Guardians

I spin the stick to kindle fire to dispel the chill,
risking the displeasure of that ghost who’s silent ’til
It feels the differing temperature with the waning cold
and moves down from the window ledge, wanting to behold
this human who alone would risk the ire of a ghost
without protection of a cross or a holy host.
I  softly hum a tune that the spirit doesn’t know,
then dig my fingers in the ground in an attempt to sow
new life within that sterile earth–softly dropping seed
to see what vegetative wonders earthly hands can breed.
I feel the spirit hovering and sense his threatening stare
until warm currents lift him up into the cooler air
above the room, above the town, to where more spirits dwell
who have been patiently waiting to send him back to Hell.

For The Sunday Whirl. This week’s given words are – kindle risk dig until differing chill spin waning ghost softly alone know.