the last ember of the year

The last ember of the year's light catches and glows in the dawn. This window, this view I will soon lose. I am moving again. Into a new flat, a new year: another year. 

The trace of skyfire kindles my hopes, my fears. This sailor's warning. To fan the ember, to not let the spark smoulder to blinding smoke. Myself at the centre, this thing with breath enough to feed the fire, with mind enough to get distracted and let the ember die. 

Yet, and yet, I still burn inside for something. Maybe there is only this spark inside - star born in tremendous heat - that burns and needs tending. So it is the tending that needs tending to and not the fire. For the fire will burn down to the last embers of life if I am lucky, if I attend the spark, create flame and not smoke.

Maybe these thoughts are the very flames by which I self-immolate. I burn beautifully alone and bright and red hot. But untouchable, lest ye be burned. 

You see: fire and smoke. An ember still burning, waiting to catch the fuel of the new year.

Onwards.