Wood Stacks

Wood stacks along the beaches for St John,
for luck, for the summer months to come,
for little boats fishing lines home – families
build fire beacons on their patch of sandy turf,
throw sand, wriggle toes in surf,
and gather, eat together, throw a dog a bone,
sun-kiss tomatoes in the first rays of summer.
Sunset falls a shawl around shoulders
in just-peachy pink blaze golden wands of warmth!
Let it be tassels, frays, and knots in big soft dots
swirling on a sky’s silky stretch. Let it be
wrapped in dusk’s sweet breath. Darkness.
Strike a match; tinder kindling ignites tongues
burning fallen trees - roots and the juice
of hardwood fizz and eyes of pine pop to ash.
Scent, a last glance in oils - Midnight,
Madrugada - jump the fires
and find the open arms of friends flicker
like flames warming the embers of a hug.
Never-ending hellos farewells lots of love.
Madrugada, Midnight to morning, couples walk
the hot coals, volcanoes dream of the last time
they were floating candles, each island
alight as fire-circles sparking display for the stars.
They burn for walkers until dawn
for all to taste the Tequila air - salt, sting of lime;
flames lick wet legs, warm thighs,
and before bedtime, fireworks bouquet the sky.