... poetry ...

(shadow)dance

a flicker

on a wick

makes

the dead

things dance.

a light void

of undulation

tricked

into movement

by melted

wax

and cracks

and

matter and mass

until like

all things

it is

used up

and we put

our shoes

back on

and head

home

wisps

and Q’s of

floating

ash sink

up

wards

in dismay

at the

return of

the dark

corners

react

to this

for what’s

been burnt

can never

burn

again.

ever.

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