Stacking Fire

Some things burn left
And some things burn right:
Straight flame is a gift
(But not everything lights).

For a fire to burn,
The shape of the pile
Should be prodded and turned
To its natural style,

Framing the oak
In the original bark,
Leaving spaces for smoke
So fire can spark.

Left on their own,
Logs crumble to ash:
A forest kept prone
Is too grounded to flash.

But push it up right,
Grain against grain,
And it orders the night
Into vertical flame.