This Poem

This Poem David J Walker This poem is complete in the single clap of a hand But not within applause The roar of a crowd cannot compete With the focus of a poignant pause This poem is the long last ray of light Perfected in summer at the End of its solstice awaiting the Tonight to begin looking Toward a still distant Autumn This poem is a new love navigating The awkwardness of a familiar stranger Ignoring the colorblind danger of the name On the red flags waving over the heart This poem is the smell of sulfur in the quick strike of a match The hatch of faint light looking for ways to stay alive in a greater burning although a roaring fire would be the yearning for a volume rather than a poem