January

Morning Dance

A lifetime of waking early

in darkness

lighting a candle – any will do

a marred taper from Goodwill

a flattened mound of votive wax

a pillar with edges folded like a rolling wave

and on my lap, trailing ink across the page

grey horizontal lines holding words

like helping hands lifting

sorrows and joys and hopes

and lists and chaos and remorse and prayers.

The movement of dancing flame

bending, reaching, scribbling the air with a hot orange tip,

paired with the pen’s strokes of

crossed t’s and dotted i’s and looped o’s

their choreography fresh each day

thoughts not known until

the pen moves, leaving a trail across the page,

while a charred cotton wick sketches the air with smoke.

The dance of candle and contemplation

burning and brainstorming

a two-step, a pas de deux

spontaneous and never routine.