A candle
has burned black
down to a nub
and vomited wax
all over my desk.
I look at the placental remains
and I wonder
If I had enough warmth
in my breath
If I had enough skill
in my hands
If I had a new wick
in my pocket
Could I pry up the wax
and mold and roll
and repair the path of flame?
Funny, it’s always the easier
the unopposed choice
to buy a new candle
to burn down again.
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