duhpursuit

tender, waxen, etched and worn, the ways
we’ve tried to burn, to warm the dark, soften,
yield the sole regret, return unknown
the solid, heartache, to a final lighted place.

all these depend on the leaving,
the angle of the sun, the moon, whether or not
good terms and willing allow them to pass, to pause,
offering a few the rare trick of light, the illusion
of a ring of flame, really two sovereign
coursing a measured space

to blaze a brilliant hour before the rest,
before the stolen are snipped, snuffed and blown,
until the ember still for a while on our lips,
pursing, pops and plummets, a sputtering tail,
until the last bright being flickers and fails,
a gray unwinding stretched thin, threading
is and was and may be, only once upon a time.