WILL THE CANDLE STILL BURN?
You will not remember
that day, that feeling of morning
when we were held
one to the other
my laughter
or even this letter
within the makings of one decade.
Time has a way
of dealing with
those of stubborn nature
who pretend;
who’s fantasy is more real than reality
who cry after midnight.
The others will never know
if you shut the door
and fall into the safety of bed pillows
and cry
but I will.
The seasons are in their usual transition
from summer to autumn to winter
and I am inside against the cold
fighting it
word for word.
But words are only fine marks on paper
suitable for burning
when the night is long
and cold.
But I will try and offer
some consolation
with soft
caring words.
Form your delicate lips around them
and whisper them aloud.
If they hold
and hug you
write them on the wall
above your bed.
If not
burn them
beside the candle
I bought you at the fair. Remember?
