It was late. I opened the door and the stars were shining in the cold. And the sea was galloping in the night.

The intense
aroma
of firewood slipped 
from
the house like a hand.

As if the tree still
lived,
still breathed,
the aroma was visible.

Visible
as a ...

Visible 
as a broken branch.

I walked
around
in the house
enveloped
by the fragrant
dark.

Outside,
the sky's
sharp points
sparkled
like magnetic stones,
and the door of firewood
touched 
my heart
like fingers,
like jasmine,
like certain memories.

When I opened the door
in the night.
With all that I have seen in the world,
in my house at night,
memories entered me like wave's,
cut loose from time.