it all gets laid down,
to test the water held in 1 3/4" attack line,
we take the leap across
the light of the doorway,
to the smoke banked room,
body and soul combine to function,
in operation like oil and gas,
in the apparatus generator,
there is an unknown just beyond
the deep ashen door,
waiting to test our fear and adrenaline,
our tears and sweat fall the same,
muscles tense and tighten
while joints throb in rhythmic pain,
against the fridged January night temperatures,
turn-out gear freezes and joins the cold side,
of the devils game set forth here,
ash and dirt attach to the cracks
of our fingers and hands,
red from the sub-zero cold,
we grasp time and training by
the two tanned horns of the ranch bull,
baring it all to the soul to give,
to a life that lives
in the flow of blood and
in determination of mind.
