these are candles
i believe
burning fierce and gaping holes
into the canvas of the night
through which are glimpsed
a million mismatched eyes
of strangers staring in

these are candles
whose frolicking flames
cast flickering shadows
on the cavernous walls
of the world outside

the blind puppetteer
drops his manacled cast in clumsiness
as the audience sniggers
in derision

                                                  their very lashes
                                                                  singed
                                             on smoldering wicks

globs of wax
dribble endlessly
onto the tapestry
and insects burn
when passing near

these are candles
don't you see
all the stuff of memory
and dreams and fears
have turned to soot
and lust and love
are spent in pitiful puddles
of thickening corpsewax
from which i sculpt
with yearning fingers
the candles of slow burning