At least I know
how
to pile kindling
how to twist newsprint
to strike sulphur
At 63 degrees and wakeful
At wondering
about regrets, about real estate
The wind runs up the mountain
Often, he reckons
Coals, ash, embers
What is the job of a father
to fold expertly a diaper
to wake up bleary
to know what lonely sounds
the night makes
Among my special skills
pause, restart
crouch and watch
the flickering flame
All the other things, I forget
what I'm doing
how to keep
What's important is the draft
oxygen and fuel
But always, there is interrupt
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