He came to me in a dream,
pushing back the darkness,
a coal flickering in a fennel-stalk.
The fennel-scent surrounded me,
like entering a house where food
has simmered the whole day.
Suddenly, the flame was mine,
and I was roasting vegetables,
basting them with olive oil.
Those scents surrounded me,
as he stepped forward, touching
my hands and then my forehead.
Then the fire was within me,
and I found myself at a desk,
writing poems based on myths.
Before he could turn away,
I touched my forehead and
opened my palms to him.
I bowed in gratitude
for his gifts, the many flames,
and he nodded in reply.
As he walked from my dream,
the darkness tried to return,
but I held it back with my fire.
/ / /
This poem was written in response to prompt #60, burning passion, at Poetic Bloomings.
It is my first attempt at a triversen, a form I learned about from Brenda Warren at her blog, undercaws, with her poem, “Exiting Nests”. She pointed me to dVerse, which had an article on the triversen form.