Maybe it was the smell of the candle,
like pine trees that are like a holiday
that represents a divine, unconditional love.
You had it in the other room,
and by the time I came out of there,
I was ready to try this all again.
I believed in a miracle
we could create by our wanting it,
perhaps some holy talisman
to snuff inevitable error.

That night, the light was perfect when it fell
onto the crimson of the bedcovers
and the twinkle through the blinds,
as I waited for you to join me there,
filled me with a joy I couldn’t speak
because I knew, deep down, it would die

this evening, weeks later, as do all things
unaccountable to those
we know when we are alone, whiskey and soda
the only beam I have left, fixed on that already
aging faith, alternating as the saddest
and most wonderful thing imaginable,
as the light changes on it, expiring.

09/29/2008

Posted on 09/29/2008
Copyright © 2010 Jesse Chapman