“A deal conducted by the parties.”Matches lined up in the box
like sardines, soldiers, or marines,
on the line of fire
ready to ignite and shine.
Patches on the surface of the skin
covering the holes and stitches,
lining silver, time expanding,
preaching of the cold and winter trees.
A deal conducted by the parties,
a little shout, a little dance,
an empty bucket on the ground laying vacant,
paint applied on frozen skin,
was a paste but now a set of scales,
over frozen, crying skin.
Sacrifice is made,
oxygen is split divided,
on the altar in the sky,
smoke is reaching further upward,
to the edge of the blue and black
with pretty planets, stars.
Snow is melting
in the line of fire, clearly;
covered, sleeping soil
awoken by the flaming dance,
it smiles, tricked to think the summer has arrived
but clothes have been removed,
time to join the dance
and look beyond the frozen fingers of the hand.