Flickering Candle
Light fractures, as it filters through Jasmine
a soft splayed light on the wrinkled skin
of an old man's hands
it brings warmth to his mornings
under the vines, wrapped and tangled overhead
Each day he shuffles to his hand made rocking chair
to consume time and the passing of his life
that is fading away, like a flickering candle
that's melting with his memory, of burying his wife
he spends hours in conversation with his loneliness
before taking a deep long breath
exhaling away his tears, in a quiet pause
with trembling hands, reaches for a pipe his wife gave him
and searches for tobacco he keeps in his overalls
she would complain each time he blew smoke
through the vines, as if connecting to something beyond
with an offering
she would say...stop that
he laughed in amusement, then do it again
looking over to see if he could catch a smile
during midday, he pulls weeds and tosses seeds to birds
they seem to understand when to show up
as they eat he'll clean the birdbath his wife loved so much
when she would watch them flap their wings
like a dance in the water
at sunset, he returns to his chair
to continue his conversation until dark
before he leaves he always looks back
and says...are you coming
8/17/17
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