Kitchen Spark

The click, click, click, of failing spark,

then that quick blue, a sudden bloom.

Small suns ignited in the dark,

banishing the kitchen's gloom.

A whisper, then a steady roar,

as gas caught hold, a hungry sound.

This tiny power, nothing more,

yet primal, deep within the ground.

It warms the pan, it heats the tea,

this fierce, contained, domestic flame.

A little god, for you and me,

always answering to its name.