Spark

Like the chert against flint in the pit of dry paper,
like the crackle, the snap, of the wafer at night,
the castanets clacking, the pistol its click,
like the first burst of ammo from the bird in the sky,
like the unkind remark from a coworker’s cubby
a cubicle away from the chief’s open door,
like the sock on the boxers coming out of the dryer,
like the cut foot on glass, like beef on the fire,
like the kiss you concoct at sudden desire.