Chiminea

The stars are cold blue-bright tonight.
The ghost of woodsmoke fills the breath
of his magic wee place.

The legacy he left
is the joy he took in simple things,
a child's awed delight
in the magic of fire,
and the sparks that spiralled
in the velvet dark spaces
between the stars.

The air has a vital chill tonight,
The ghost of laughter crackles in crystal embers
of the fires he lit.

The legacy he left
is the tinder he gathered
which smoulders in the hearth
of his hopes and desires.
In the furnace white heat
of the clay chiminea
diamonds were forged

The sooty black jewels
that hide in the powder dry ash,
once glistered and glistened,
- twinkling constellations
in adventurous eyes.

His love for the living
is the legacy he left.