my tools arrayed within my forge, I light the fire
my thoughts from pen to page have strayed despite the fire

your ardor cooled, blocked, damped my breath; desire gutters -
only embers have I left to ignite the fire

your smile flint-grounded dressed stone ramparts gleaming bright
so steel me with your strike and we shall light the fire

all around is ash burnt grey and sere, nothing stirs
bare and wasted are the grounds where you fight the fire

depart from me and go into lands unknowing
return, my pillars stand by day; at night the fire

without your breath against my ear no thought may stir
the candle snuffed within the jar that blights the fire

alone a watch I keep above a sea of green
alarm bells shall I strike if I can sight the fire

with wine-dark dreams the sun recedes at eventide
so we in darkness can bring forth delight: the fire

the moon fae-touched in mourning dimness shall retire
so her countenance Niamh shall take - and bright, the fire.