burn this red candle
it shrank so low
it’s flat as my sandal

glowing a golden amber flame
standing ***** at the windowpane
melting beads of teardrop wax

hoping soon you’d drive back
till the light choked
billowing clouds of dusty black smoke

I will no longer
hold this door ajar
looking out for a shooting star
spring flew as the robin
after a cold winter of sobbing
and falling like the autumn leaves
cracking neath the boy’s hot feet