motive 8

reverent spies, shadows bent back
so far off from their
original source,
they come to believe ...
they themselves, become the belief
in their own separate lives.
life outcast to continue
beyond the strife of tactile form.

i lit a candle at the window,
it blackened and cracked the cold glass.
i lit it to let in the light -- to
attract some future thing out wandering
the dark streets alone. i lit it
so someone might look twice
and wonder ... just knowing they might,
i felt less alone with the gesture. i lit
it so i could blow it out and
breathe those post-flame moments in,
when the wax and wane and
wick scent grow strongest. when
time is a flavor that settles,
frightened on my lips.