Candles

CANDLES

I wipe her fevered brow.
I'm not sick says she.
I know,
But I'll bring tea.

I find her pulse,
So steady now,
belies the tempest
in her chest.
Here, I've brought tea.

I light candles
on the chiffarobe,
looking at the long night
and pour the tea.

We've come this far
and so many years.
Why not one more night?
Now forgotten, the tea.

The candles have gone out
like my kin, one by one.
Now grown cold, the tea.


Charles Dietzel
April 2006