Literature
Tinderbox Heart
In the puddle-drummed madness
of the dawn,
we find ourselves
soaring -
topple-winged and cresting
like young colts,
the trees closing their eyes
at our haste.
We gallop,
treble-footed and deft,
through a green that yawns -
the mist clinging,
sweet sod of daybreak,
and your thrum-breasted heart
warm as a tinderbox
left beating at my feet.