I've written my life
on three-quarters of a page;
my soul and all its folds,
this scrap is all I
need.

I would tell you [my] contents,
but do the words
even matter?

Instead, I will hand a single
candle to a stranger walking past.
A final remembrance of my spirit;
its small existence in a
sea of immensity.

Ebbing and flowing;
little tea lights, pulsing
through darkness.

03/17/2011

Posted on 03/17/2011
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