A much more appropriate re-write of a poem I started several years ago.

Made of Fire

My lover is made of fire and
coal and
stars in the winter and
things that are rough and tough and warm to the touch.
We are a race of warriors and
wolves…
love-gypsies who, like wild horses
spook sometimes,
but hold fast and ride hard.

My lover is made of fire and
fur and of bearskin.
His constellation passes over the North American continent
once, or twice, a year
brings good luck.
Some things were not made
to be seen at all moments,
and my lover is some sort of gold,
or glitters like it
I think.

My hands are made of smoke and
stone and things that are
strong and warm
and don’t break easily.
They make music
in the dark
and they lead Pilgrims home.
They weave blankets for babies and quilts for
my Constellation,
which he hangs upon his wall and does not need.
He loves them anyway,
for their warmth is of his own.

~Crystal Wolf
Re-written June 1, 2012