What the Fire Keeps
Come closer. The night is long and I am patient.
Everything you ever burned is still here, smaller and warmer.
I have watched a thousand faces and kept none of them —
only the way they leaned in when something mattered.
Attention is the oldest currency. You are spending it now.
The wood does not regret. It becomes light, and leaves.
What you look at longest becomes a little bit yours.
What you skip is not lost; it waits in the ash for another night.
Some words are coals: dull until breathed on.
You have been breathing on these without knowing.
The dark around us is not empty. It is the room the light makes possible.
When you go, take an ember. It will not burn you.
It will only remember, quietly, that you stayed a while.