The hardest thing I have ever
attempted in my 30 years has been
keeping my grip on the serpent's tail
as it spirals up into infinity.

This candle that burns before me
is dedicated to the times it slipped
from my fingers and I was
reacquainted with the dirt I
had forgotten would embrace me
like my great-grandmother used to.

Wax in the bowl,
supple dark.

A single syllable slides out of somewhere.

Another candle.
Another heart softly beating.
until it isn't.

It's disgustingly unfair, I know.
But...