Grant Clauser

You have to put your body into it,
cup the flame like an infant
cups a breast because it can fill you,
shed some light into the shadows—
maybe winter started early and stretched
into spring, maybe the jays that settled
into the spruce forest are thinner
than last year because your dreams last
only as far as you can see in the dark.
And damn that wind anyway. What business
has it lifting shingles from the roof
only to scatter them in the field?
I challenge it to a duel. Its persistent
muscle against my need for heat. Love,
let’s talk about love. This dark
has nothing I can’t wish away
with the weight of my body
cupping a single match, blowing
oxygen into the kindling until
all the world is ablaze.