at midnight
the candles flare back to life.
air shimmers through a gap
in the wall,
cement eroded from years
of storm and wind.

the flames flutter
dancing on a lengthening wick.
on the table,
drops of wax accumulate,
clumping along the faded wood.

rain lashes along the window,
turning the forest into a
mass of shadow.
each tree forms its own smoky shape,
a cloaked ghost
waiting for direction.

under the sheeting hail
the ghosts bend and yield.

one collapses;
a pebble comes loose from the wall and
the wind picks up.
the temperature drops
and the flames tremble.


2 thoughts on “tremble”

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