Count the carbons
fifteen, twenty, twenty-five
yes, linked, bound, binding
together into a cold set.
Useless,
until fire
lights me,
then,
Burning coldly
casting our amber light
into rooms.
But what of it?
who counts the candle
save a monestery
pressing prayers into his hands
lighting,
extinguishing and lighting again.
day after day.
when I’m burned out
spilling my liquid
useless short wick,
then I’m waste
just that collection
of carbon refuge.
Dave Barber
Collection: Natural Laws
20 Nov 08
