We Do Not Say The Candle Is Put Out.
A Candle Is Only Ever Put To Rest.
Of course someday the gyroscope
in which we have been set to spin
will spin on without these bodies
which, for a while, we thought us,
and thought the catalyzing weight
that set the dizzy whirligig aplomb,
yet for now I have a being left to be—
lithesome, spindly like green twigs,
yet ready to punch and swerve
with metronomes of swelter
the dawn dark with its pour
of egg into the spittling stars.
What does it matter whether
I say this is enough, or never?