Sitting around the fire with nephew—
Saturday night fire.

It burns warm on a warm night,
little wind.

The first sticks were taken 
from dead limbs
of a nearby bottlebrush.
The bigger chunks 
are from jarrah.

Flames turn to glowing coals 
in the darkness.

I look all the way into its fiery core,
then let the fiery core
of the word
out of my mouth:
“Fire.”

And the warmth of the Earth descends,
fills, 
inhabits it;
as the word inhabits the mouth
and the space beyond it;
as the physical fire
inhabits the place in front of us;
as the core of it,
meeting the core of the name,
fills the heart
and limbs,
there newly (re)created,
newly alive.