The Comforter

by Mary Lynn Bahr

They say the fire falls swiftly,

Breaking adamant hearts, neatly

Dividing joints and marrow

For sterile reassembly.

Pure, molten personality

Will cool into new symmetry

As crimson years bleach into snow

And melt out of memory.

I kneel and cringe, expecting

Ecstasy and quickening,

Ambush by wrestling angels,

Annunciation that compels

Belief. Tonight only snow

Falls, half an inch, just enough.