Burn bright

The waxy click of a new box of candles.

Neatly lined up, the smooth sides unblemished.

The wicks, like soft ropes,

Once used to hoist them from their baptism,

Stretch out, exposed.

Strike a match,

Set one alight.

Tip to flame, the ropes fizzle and burn bright.

Immersed in the intensity,

The weaves unfurl and rejoice,

Overcome, they celebrate their last moments together.

Hot wax starts to pool at the top,

Glistening like water  

And brimming to the point of excess.

Small wet beads start to spill off the edge,

Petrified as they fall,

Each make their leap,

Hurried and alone.

Soon they lose their momentum, and start to slow,

Their heads and trails clouding over as they harden.

As the flame’s horizon starts to sink,

More drops form and fall,

Yielding to their fate,

Soft veins now scale the surface,

Layered trajectories of now still life,

Each death remembered and preserved.

Each flame, both the beginning and the end.