As I sit, the fire’s blaze warms my face,
but my eyes do not see the rich-hued flames.
My inner-eye (the mind and heart) are outward turned,
listening to the hum of a dozen different words:
or, perhaps, of a dozen different worlds.
The only ones I know are the three girls —
old college friends — the rest are new acquaintances.
One talks about Morocco; someone else of France.
With the guy beside I speak of India,
and to my left is Milena (someone’s German friend).
Luca from Spain soon bids us all a pleasant night.
Is it any wonder the fire, though quite nice,
suffers from a want of my full attention?
Against the souls, the fire isn’t worthy of mention.
This collision of human worlds holds me rapt,
and I am suddenly taken aback at how abrupt
has been the coalescence. In the space of a blink
is seems that we have woven together a wonderful thing:
a patchwork of life, of worlds: a multi-soul quilt.
One might never think to combine such varied ilk,
and yet this temporary union burns bright —
brighter than the fire’s orange-red light.
The fire destroys the wood, but smelts the fragile bond
between this mixture of souls which I have stumbled upon.
Alas that with the fire’s death the bond will break!
But, thank God, there’s always another quilt to make.