Rust

There is a hearth there there beside the dry, rotten leaves on the damp earth in the eerie light and shade of the forest there is a hearth there. From the bitten apple a worm climbs up. The grapes left from a cluster give their sweetness to the earth the knife left behind slowly and silently gathers rust a hand on the ashes pours kindling a match is lit a flame leaps up there in the stone ring of that warm hearth...