Wax colours the grate and floorboards
as the candles stream away. Two matches
burn in a caldera. Their heads are charcoal.
Their bodies, black along their length,
anchor the flame to a melting derelict.
Gone out, they are broken columns
where temples stood, cluttered with burials,
votives and valedictions to gods who’d
raise used kindling from ashes
coercing it to wick the light again.