Best Friends
Faith Allington
We met on Bonfire Night
before the seasons turned
too likely to ignite.
The stars were affixed
to the velvet dusk
while flames blossomed
on our cheeks.
Bright sparks of laughter,
the arc of your smile,
and dark rich scent of apples
rising from the cup.
We offered the fire
our twigs of hawthorn.
I thought we were gold,
even knowing Robert Frost’s
admonition—
nothing gold can last.
But in that night we remain
etched in firelight,
flickering selves that never
break or rust.
