Bonfire

A sweet slice of moon observes Impish figures shift their weight Around a roaring blue-green flame. Smoke licks the navy sky, a close friend And metal flecks spray From a cavern in the middle of the heat. Twisted faces, hooked noses Balding heads Stubby, eager arms reach out Grasping for that moon, The last innocence in the sky. A pan flute sears the noiseless night And the coals of savage eyes are stoked once more- Back to dancing.