Where the Fire Ends

Flame curls,

then bows to night,

its body trembling

before surrender,

a brief dance

against the dark.

Ash drifts

the echo of heat,

the ghost of light,

falling like slow confession,

fragile as breath

on winter glass.

Every blaze ends here,

in silence thick as stone,

in air that tastes of memory,

where shadows gather

to keep the secret.

The logs crack once more,

their final voice breaking,

then fade into embers,

soft as prayer,

tender as goodbye.

Here, endings breathe:

a hush that listens,

a promise not spoken,

a spark unseen,

waiting in the shadows.

And from the hollow dark,

something waits, patient,

as if the end

were only the start.