End-of-Year Bonfire

We drank snowjack as tax receipts
burned in the fat of the fire
with all the records of your work
like leaves of African violet
as all that you've learned and left behind
is consumed like everything real
as soon as it shapes into form.

My open heart, like this fire, nothing but desire
builds ladders made of light
from the bellows of the thinking wind -
some living crystal glistens
in the center of my skull:
these archetypes are just projections,
the snow, your face, the zebra wood,
the branching of the all into my shadow.