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.