Campfire, Lignum

The world shone in letters, Lucretius believed:

in firewood (lignis) was hidden (ignis) fire. Whatever

kindles your tinder. His mater flirted with matter

for that matter. Linguistics, logistics-two sticks

perhaps one shouldn't rub together-but if,

on a night like this, by firelight and stars, one hears

the pater in the local patter, whose pattern

would that be? Father time, mother tongue,

we will be true to you in our fashion:

our fashion is to read what we choose to read.

A possible good in the bonfire-not the bone-

faint flag in the conflagration-not the blaze.

All things are fire, flame's said to have tongues,

our dignity and ignorance, our signatures.