Fire roses

Today you grasped

the stars as

they were slipping off

the edge of my horizon

and shook them back

into the sky.

You are

quicksilver

can leave me

slow-footed

wordless.

My skin is alive

with the soft imprint

of your mouth.

How many miracles

can there be?

As I burnt your letters

the pages spread and curled

bloomed

like fire roses.

Cynthia Fuller