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This Boy’s Fire

written by: Bob Jensen

@FirstTimeSinceA

 

The moon is pinned
Above a pale blue horizon
Transparent and tattered
Like a torn veil
While a band of plovers
Crowd the evening’s ripplets
For the tiny shrimp and worms
Invisible gifts of Aegaeon

The air is chill
Like the richness of blue
The sand and shells
Warm upon my bare feet

Across the cove
The new spring peepers
Chime in
With the day’s last gulls
An improvised chorus
For the Beaujolais nouveau d’été
Days only half baked
Still raw in the middle
Exquisite
Virginal
Pure
Chaste

I am alone upon this shore
Save for the small dog at my feet
Whose heart races
For the same song as mine
He smells the moon
And sweet-grass and kelp
But not yet the incense of candescence

The sun goes down like a drowning man
Arms stretched towards the sky
And the veil is lifted
From the face of the moon
As the beach empties of life
It is cold, barren, desolate
Waiting for the dawn

In soft waning light
The shore yields up fuel
Driftwood from China
The bones of an old lobster pot
And scattered kindling

I construct my tiny teepee
Stuffed with brittle seaweed
And handfuls of last summer’s grass

My companion sits patiently
Sampling the air
As my altar of light
Sends forth its first orange flames
And once again there is life
On the beach
A small heart beating
In the cooling, darkening expanse
Where the good earth
Meets the boundless sea

Its crackling voice breaks the silence
In an ancient conversation
Between oxygen, wood
And timeless carbon
From before the age of stars

Its glowing embers
Warm my young boy’s heart
For those coals will not be extinguished
By time nor tribulation
Nor will its sense of wonder
Be lessened
By the ceaseless orbits
Of the world

The sharp incense washes over us
Like smudging sage
In an ancient conversation
Between God, an open heart
And timeless carbon
From before the age of stars

The boy still lives inside the man
And this boy’s fire will burn
Upon a lonely shore
So long as there is oxygen
To fuel these two small hearts
On the edge of land and sea
Where the ashes of carbon
From before the age of stars
Lay scattered in reverence
By one who hears
The Song of Songs
Beneath the torn veil
Of the pale blue moon
In the last light of day

Bob Jensen

Bob Jensen

Bob Jensen has been writing poetry, music and prose his whole life.
He currently resides in Prince Edward Island, Canada where he works as a booking agent for folk musicians from around the world.
His award winning novel, The Matchbox Funeral, is available on Amazon.
Bob Jensen

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