Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning

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Poems are always getting

Snatched out of the ether

Between our ears

Or someone else’s

 

Like a candle flickers

Into a corner of a dark room.

We didn’t make the candle

Or build the room.

 

We struck the match

And more than sometimes

That is enough.

It’s ok.

 

Keep the tapers cool,

The matches dry and

All the corners stocked

With attributes and awareness.

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