If It Ever Happens that a Candle Goes Out



If It Ever Happens that a Candle Goes Out

It’s never the same longing
that leads me into the dredges at the fishery.
It’s always something unclear, muddied
by what gathers around my eyes.
Something like a cuckoo calls the hours
like an old clock, only not the hours
that are essential.  I think I see the day
tossing back what it is shown.  But you cannot hope
backwards or in reverse.  Someone I love
has died, I am certain, but I cannot tell who.

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