Fire Pit

FIRE PIT

Triune stack of bricks

in geometric infinite equivalent,   

your outer visage, given time, 

has undeniably accrued a kind  

of weather-beaten pallor, 

or should I say a more-

than-subtle indication 

of a certain exterior exhaustion—

gray, we'll deign to say. Yes, 

though then I’d be remiss 

to miss the seemingly significant

observation that your inner parts

remain as scarlet the day you came, 

licked cleaned by cloven tongues.*

*This hints at Pentecostal flame.