the flaw in my logic
won't let me see past the
embers of a slowly dwindling campfire
they snap and scamper
into the night like miniature barbarians
prancing in ritualistic caper
waves of sweetly scented smoke
incite a trembling in my core
chipping away the burden of fear
ten thousand sharp and glistening
tentacles of white pierce the blackness
and hew my path into the infinite
my shallow breaths placated
I smile down upon the
abandoned shell... drifting slightly askew
into a province of stardust
I bolt headlong
giving chase to the savage fire dancers
Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
