I. Candle and Smoke

Your face returns in flame against the night,

a warmth that lingers though the shadows grow.

The candle bends its glow to keep you bright,

yet feeds the dark with every breath it sows.

Each memory glimmers, gentle, then it fades,

a lantern swaying where the silence keeps.

The joy it gives is lined with quiet shades,

a tender ache that even daylight weeps.

But in that ache I find a pulse of song,

a music braided out of loss and gleam.

It teaches sorrow how to still belong,

and turns the dark to marrow of the dream.

So love is both: the ember and the ash,

the fleeting spark, the echo, and the flash.