Candle

We are an error, made in gravity’s season as the sky falls.

Desperate Atlases to a fragile, fragmented late summer rule.

I move towards your illegal glow; Behind me, you put up walls.

My new laughter shines like a candle and makes me cruel.

 

When I lie on my side, in the dark, I dream your hand

on my side, as if it is still resting there in quiet,

at the damaged, left-hand edge of fidelity’s quicksand.

It sinks into the future I have imagined for it.

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