This from Kenyon Review, 2005 (?)

Feeding the Fire

Down the chute the coal chunks come, black and brittle

from time’s press, packed with essence of dim forests, 

funk of flora, fungiforms, relics of the Paleozoic

destined for my furnace, fire-bellied Baal that warms

the innards of this house.

I toss the flame a shovel-load

and feel the blaze of opaque past transfigured into infrared,

then kick shut the furnace door and wipe the smudge

of pitch-black dust that seams the lifeline of my palm.