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How many poets does it take to put out a candle? ©

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England

You're not like a gas flame
Or I would see a point of nothingness
At your base
That invisible rush of expectancy

No, your whole body devours.
The crucified wick stands to attention
Looks down in awe at your handiwork

Impurities which in the wax
Gave lack of depth in solid shape
Now molten, clear, transparently sheer.
Encroach the rim, on route to where?

To abseil down the virgin shaft
First to spoil the un-rippled column
Or race behind another's track
Leap-frogging as your molecules mourn to stillness

Or drop and set upon a child's hand
They watch how quickly you change
From lava flow
To bathing caps for their fingertips.

Light and warmth and dancing flame
Dreamer's magnet, pulling in
The trawler's nets full of visions

I snuff you to sleep
And walk away
As you wave goodnight
With your ribbons of smoke.

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