.
Each moment comes
a clean slate.
We write on it
with ink that burns us,
weep on it
with tears that boil,
toss it on a hickory stove
smearing ash
on pristine snow
.
but every second
rights itself
into a guiltless fire
that flares into
a longing grace
erasing clean
the errant flare
as we learn
to temper self
and kindle our own glow.
.
.
© 2012, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post, revised)