TENDER when the fire sinks low a little stirring helps or blowing bent over at its root of coals the fire rises over itself again the fire is made of its fuel and my knowledge of fire half moon first star I wish for those I love the best of fates or failing that for courage the cooling after-sunset air slides from the grassy ridge downhill through the trees I sit with my back to it and listen to the early spring carousal of peepers the night begins to flourish with stars and I think how bloodroot goldenseal and maidenhair have all come up today and wonder when it was that someone of my kind began to learn to tend a fire how many thousands of years ago and how it was most likely the fire itself that taught him so if only he held attention close on it all night