~flickering~

like love. like time. like her.

little flame quivers and sighs
she glows a warm amber,
and her light is welcome;
it awakens plumes of dust,
casts shadows on the
walls and floors
where memories forever sleep.

the table is piled high with boxes bearing
clothes she had sewn and hemmed
for growing legs,
broken and mended china,
and boxes filled with
a volume of aged letters –
written in last year's bleeding ink
and sealed with a memory.

and her last syllables form words in mind:

~“we will all burn away,
but I will be with you until morning arrives,
on its withering arms of gold,
and I will be standing there,
rose in hand,

and I will give to you in death
what I could not in life.”~