I.
The candle in the window
Knows no dark
Only the flicker of its
Life, the mystery of its
Updraft, the taper's fat
Dull smudge to smoke;
Winter holds no pollen
Its stored up in heat
The deep, dead center of
Life's promise renewed
We are all cured in repose
Dead, we arch up to life
Alive, our heat is leached
Out, by the dead world's
Stones and frozen water
We have no repose
We drag along our vitals
Like a sack of meal
And knead and knead
The life of promise eternally
Renewed, the ancient faith
That we left with the citrus,
The olive, the winter wheat
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