Ripe For Burning

I don’t know 

how it is for you

but when I try to shut down 

desire or affection 

it just bursts out 

in a thousand new places 

like a fire 

that has gotten into the mast 

of the floor of the forest

the fruit and the nuts

where they lay fallen

ripe for burning

we are ripe for burning 

all the discarded pieces

of ourselves that have been

made into ballast 

so the ship’s course is smooth

so we do not founder

all the pieces we have

turned our eyes away from

while tending the communal gardens 

they still flourish 

as weeds that leap up

in the corners of the empty lots

of our self-neglect 

in the fallow fields 

of my spirit 

tiny fires are springing up

everywhere 

glowing like poppies 

irrigated by the forgotten 

rivulets of the heart

which course under the earth

like the red threads

which bind us together.