Melancholia

Melancholia

Late evening moon rise,
Woodburner roar,
The room dark.
Shadows from the fire
Jump spaces.

She leans into her chair,
Legs up and arms wrapped
Around her knees,
Stares at the flames.

That fiery dance,
The start of it all.

She shakes away
The wistful memory,
Disentangles the claws
Of the past from her
Mending heart.

The night ages.
She doesn’t move.
The fire whispers.
Sleep in here
Is her relief.

R 19/10/2024 21:03