Wood Burner

Molten crimson velvet
sloughing ash
delicately grey,
irregular pulsations,
silent throbbings,
vermillion to black.

Fire.
contained
in an iron box
with a viewing glass,
appearing tamed – 
illusion.

Flames lick.
Flames dance.
Flames reach 
and retreat
in yellows, purples,
oranges, blues,
radiating heat,
drying clothes,
removing moisture.

Fire.
Held.
Contained, barely.
Always like the sea
untameable, 
wild, 
unpredictable,

Fire grabbing the air,
pulling to itself wood,
devouring,
all 
the while
random sparks
ascending,
in hiss, spit, crackle.

Flame consuming,
irreverent, uncaring
tumbling down
fireworkings,
a cascading aurora
in a box,
mesmerising
magical,
menacing,
drifting in place
needing no sky
for its dancing.

In reality,
we know so well now,
fire is a predator,
consuming and violent,
yet also
the paradox
when contained,
fire can be
friendly, warming, comforting.