stoked

The morning after a fast
I feel reduced to my essence, elemental.
I feel my heart beat, my lungs expand and contract with every breath.
I feel suddenly warm.
After one last glass of water,
I start with a big bowl of oatmeal.
Everything is delicious, and it burns clean.
The fires have been stoked.

Outside it is dreamlike – hoarfrost again, but with very light snow.
In the half-light before dawn
I don’t see any flakes, but
they tickle as they melt on my face.

A dream: of a sculpture, six trumpeters riding a horse.