in blip of kilter

In places where the sun had set
in spaces there a rung was met
in trades of fire, like the fly
in blades of grass we crawled
and why
because the rolling had been tossed
because the coal had turned to rust
because the sun had never lied
because the fire never flied

a short memory will suffice
dislodged by movements
of fire and ice
but steady now
another turn
may yet freeze solid
or set to burn