Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Paul Bulai on Unsplash

The burrowing of the burning wick
revealed a second
twisted, misshapen wick
buried deep in the wax.

Something unasked.
Something forgotten but unforgiven.

Penance deferred.
A grape dying on a vine.

A secret second wick
dark and full
of potential light.

So, hushed in mystery,
we offered up
our shoes and our caps
to that angelic fetus
curled up in the
belly of the sun.

And we will continue to offer them up,
until, at last, alas, someday,
fire leaps to the second wick
and births a new light
to mold new shadows
out of old night.


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