Tuesday, November 21, 2017

His Actual Candle

Was the sunlight emerging
Around his hospital bed
As if morning were climbing
Out of the blankets themselves,

Which, in a reflective sense,
It was, the long fallen light
Not absorbed by the bedclothes
Welling up under eyelids,

His thoughts measuring the waves
As soft, strong, stronger,
And then the whole room glowing,
A backwater excitement,

Daylight in this remote world
That was his, this only life
He would ever be or know,
His candle and stage, this show.

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