The burning night

Flames lick the edges
curling smoke into the night,
the Jesus papers burn in stone shrouded circles
ashes to ashes.
Night skies clear
as the barren limbs and fingers
reach into the sky to catch
a shooting meteor
streaking through on it’s way
to forever.
Higher the fire dances
frenzied twigs and leaves ignited
remnants of winds
born of icy October,
fueling the spectre of ritualistic moments
coming together on seasoned nights
Indian summer skies call to me,
edging my thoughts to the brink
of jumping into the abyss
as the papers no longer resemble
the lives of men written
scattered floating pieces
raining down.