Candles Burn Out

Two silver hands rising from the lake
of wood, fingers lightly clasping
the tapered arms reaching like the aspen
trees in fall, the way their leaves shake

alive with light, forest dancers blazing–
or miniature suns, or passionflowers
incandescent as the stars and trembling,
waiting for the match, those lucent hours.

They say you and I are melting wax–
our lives have leapt and flared, but in the end

 only Love, that Light, will stay intact
as we blow out like candles in the wind.