we study this sky, we wait
for cracks, for the fire light of day to break,
to burst, to bust up heaven and blanket earth.
we've lit the wicks of every candle, transfixed, between extremes,
each cloud a glacier, grey as granite.
and
hours, hours, hours, and
hours, hours, hours, and
hours enter and exit as breath,
as breath is once with and without us.

possessed as surely as anything. as if life was ours to own.

we light the wicks of countless candles, transfixed, between extremes,
as another cloud dissolves toward an opening day, transformed.

and we possess its passing as surely as we possess anything.
a catalogue of dreams, remembered photographs,
the flames of three hundred twenty five birthday candles, and
each wish ever made between extremes.