The Fire on the Stove Burns Blue

There are things I put away

in the back of my mind

for storage, I guess,

or aversion.  

When I am cooking dinner,

waiting for water to boil,

watching blue flames of the burner

under silver pot,

I wonder who first discovered

intentional evaporation.  

I make a note

in my head to write a poem 
called ‘The Poetry of Science

as it Pertains to Dispelling Magic

and the Mystery of Life’.  

Suddenly, 
as if I hadn’t piled enough boxes 
up over the door to the attic,

my heart twinges, the ghost 
of your face appears, boiling 
to the surface, as the soba 
noodles roil.