Candle
Before it is lit, the wax candle glows
With a chaste, pure, holy, and gentle light
But the spark of the match readily shows
The way into the sanctum of the night -
Impossible ever to be the same
For that innocent piece of string and tar
Since transfigured by a passionate flame
As brilliant and clear as the morning star
Has not a thought of after or before
While white wax melts ‘til the passion is done
And gold light streams ‘til it can burn no more
Until the loving flame is spent and gone.
Does the wick dare dream of heat and desire
Even when absent of life-giving fire?
September 3, 2001