Ending a Love After the Love Has Ended

Poem

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The passion flames have died down;
only glowing embers remain.
And when the wind picks up,
new flames appear;
and with a dry stick, sparks.
I’ve lived like this before —
even prayed for the wind.

And yet, the truth is
this fire has burned out.
I could try to feed it,
to step into those old flames
and that old life.
But that won’t do
and it’s not healthy.

A wise man sorts out where he is.
He lifts his eyes from that fire,
sees the moon’s new light
slanting through the trees, calling.
“You have one option,” the moon says.
And with that, I raise my bucket
and pour cold water on the old flame.

Anthony Signorelli

My poetry and essays on grief, soul, the world, and more can be found here: .