By Candle Light
The press of matchstick hard beneath the flame
releases a sudden trail of liquid wax to overflow
down the candle’s length, slowing before the base
as the run-off quickly cools. I press my thumb
and forefinger to the raised trail, feel the resistance
as it dries and remember standing barefoot next
to sunken wellies in the streambed, the mud cool
between my toes as I press and flex in the shallows,
sodden socks in hand, a robin paused and curious on the bank.
I see the shift of sun and colour, his mandarin breast
moving to smoke grey to tan. I see it there still
in the candle flame before curtly extinguishing the light
and quickly pressing pads to the pools beneath the wick,small unfillable bowls form embossed with my own fine print.