Jack Haven

"By Candlelight"

It's been two hours now, or maybe nine,
since the sun went down with the moon and stars,
leaving me in this damp prison of mine
with a half-burnt gaunt taper that flickers
feebly on plaster, cracked, molded, and old.
An icy draft whisks past and I shudder.
The small candle struggles meekly to hold
its ebbing glow. Cold and turning stiffer,
I keep my eyes fixed on the dying flame
that means to desert me like the others
to the caprice of my hermitic shame.
Draft bis. Black chases moribund glimmers.

Golden cracks blazon the sparkling news:
Through dark night the sun stayed, patient, bemused.