Delicate as a promise made by the lake with a moon in full view.
The cross some of us would bear when there is no cross.
Some sacrifice when none was asked for.
And remembering that small crease in your garment,
just below the shoulder.
Why should that remain singed on a page of now?
The city was burning, yes,
and somehow we kept talking through
I will always think of how we blew out the candles,
cupped the wick with our palms to spill no drop of wax.
Just before the shutting of the door
I caught sight of our reflections
dawdling like charms a little longer
dancing in a pane of glass.
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