We Candle

When you're a candle
Fire is life and death,
The light of love
A scream at black sin

The day's battles
are shapes of breath.
Our losses bleed wax
to soil our virgin skin.

Each gulp, dance, sigh
carves our soul in space and time.

We cling to the wick in terror
our final violence its strangulation,
and our reason for being transfiguration
into the memory of smoke.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.