You

a saturday morning poem.

Moon Fox by -Z-

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.