If I am the wood and fire at camp,
then you are the very gravity keeping its purpose.
I am held between hands of understanding
and reverence,
clapped in glory.
I am complete in my safety,
adored in my fury,
beloved for my blunted steels.
I may be the gathering place,
a chaos carefully contained by calling, then added to
because I could never burn you,
but you are the very atmosphere keeping me alive
and burning
well.