Pilot Light

I can't deny
my soul's comfort,
has gone up a level,
and yet ...
although whole,
my remains
at times
are half-hearted,
as parts of me
balk, hold up
keeping at bay,
in heartache's defense
against the heat,
fighting as I do,
turning away
from the promise,
clinging to
the at-first
chilled effect
of the blue flame
lit far beyond
register grates,
in a place,
beyond any hell
I've ever known,
this coming winter
setting in
during a time
when spring
has landed
fully in my chest. 

I am reminded,
however, too often,
can't help myself,
or rid the math
of so much time
and other such lost
to these same
comfortable feelings,
other homes where
my heart guessed
there was rest,
only to find
day-mare memories
of previous nightmares,
bungalow to bungalow,
along the railroad tracks
of two small towns
separated by two states
of sore affairs,
still causing all efforts
at forced heat and breath
to be flagged by concern,
a shiver preceding,
any warmth I receive
as I shudder,
tongue to cold metal,
the goodness
tasting bad,
raising hairs
and gooseflesh,
along the sore spots
I thought had healed.