Ancient Gasoline: a gallon
Decaying wood: a ton piled high
Ten inches of freshly fallen angel white snow
Light winds, perfect for fanning the flames
I love a good burn!
Wrapping cloth soaked in lamp oil around a stick
Standing back, the smoke will be thick
A simple flick of the bic
Flames burst from the pit!
Once the burn is established
Everything collected—useless—and old
Goes on to be turned to flames of gold
That is when
The memories burn!
I stand in dirty snow
Letting forever go
What I once loved
My hands are gloved.
Ashes—far they fly!