On Lighting a Candle at Church
The clueless wick
a white, cold prick
waits absurdly pleased
in his standoffishness
as those around him dance.
He can only be lit by another
but he takes the flame slowly
sputtering and resisting
and though too small to survive
the supplicant trusts
withdraws the other candle
until the quivering and tiny
is buoyed by the wax beneath
and blooms.
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