As I Blow out a Candle I Cry

by Renwick Berchild

Of the midnight,
Shant you leave your
Root? Shant you fly wild
Into darkness surrounding,
Into a shadow, and disappear
Thin? Whatever made you, is far
Gone now. Sparks do not linger,
Flint and rock can not follow nor
Move. You are, alone, and tangled
In this room. Delicate, you shant not
Tremble, shant not gasp for life at every
Waking moment. Tell, do you feel the nimble
Motion of your feet? Dancing as rain upon
A waning, hands reaching, exceeding your
Birth; can you not notice the illuminations
That have been borne from you? Do you see
Them slip out, and so quickly lie down. My
Eye, palpitates, eager to grip and pluck you,
Tug you out, and lift you as an old rose. I
Can not bear to see you so deviled; in twist
And wrung, you dare not to die. You dare
Not to smile. Have you ever known, the
Countenance of a breath? If I were to
Give it to you, would you think me
Unkind? Hush now, death, is not
So lonely, it is not so heavy, as
Is this place. You, may go on
Weeping, if that is your wish.
But only in an echo. Only in
A memory. None of us
May go on forever.
Feather, sweet


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