deepundergroundpoetry.com
Candles
Cool, aloof, austere,
They stood behind the altar, three and three,
White amid white flowers,
Tall amid tall fronds.
We ministered to them,
Small boys in solemn white and black,
Caught up for this brief time in ritual.
I liked to wield the long pole with the taper,
Carrying the clean, pale flame from wick to wick,
To leave a copy of itself on each, still and small:
One, two, three - one, two, three.
And later, after 'Ite, missa est',
After the faithful had filed silently away,
In the empty, echoing space,
I'd go again bearing the long pole,
Raise high the conical snuffer,
To quench the limpid beauty of the flame
And leave the skeins of blue-grey, fragile smoke
Coiling through the still and fragrant air:
One, two, three - one, two, three.
They stood behind the altar, three and three,
White amid white flowers,
Tall amid tall fronds.
We ministered to them,
Small boys in solemn white and black,
Caught up for this brief time in ritual.
I liked to wield the long pole with the taper,
Carrying the clean, pale flame from wick to wick,
To leave a copy of itself on each, still and small:
One, two, three - one, two, three.
And later, after 'Ite, missa est',
After the faithful had filed silently away,
In the empty, echoing space,
I'd go again bearing the long pole,
Raise high the conical snuffer,
To quench the limpid beauty of the flame
And leave the skeins of blue-grey, fragile smoke
Coiling through the still and fragrant air:
One, two, three - one, two, three.
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