A Letter Written to a Lost Friend
Cold water hardens wax
to form shape.
A shadow is cast,
from a candle’s light,
flickering in a fleeting moment.
Without a Candle,
Marylin would have never seen
the wind blow.
Without darkness,
the moon would not wax.
Dark as her sudden silence seemed,
and as remarkable as JFK’s birthday, song’s tease,
the wick of the candle is sometimes trimmed away.
