This flicker does not console
Our restless spirits
At green evening.
The candles dancing
In the still room
Do not answer
The last space of light,
White clouds and pink padding,
Some wisdom from beyond
That never reached
Our comprehension,
Even when the dark gave birth.
The phantom life of flame
Inspires a makeshift church
Where our home used to be,
A hope against the void
In the golden glow of faces
Beautiful, substantial
Yet insufficient
For the earth at night
Dotted with white mercury,
Human, not natural,
Habitual, as we remember
How to play cards,
Have dinner together,
Read books by the fire!
Our city has become a wilderness.
When the lights come on
We applaud, our frantic minds
Entertainable once more.
