The Lying Ashes

by Francis Godoy

The match’s offering to consume oneself,

Accepted by the candle’s curiosity—

Its light radiant.

Yet the match has burned its purpose.

While the candle burns its own.

An endless, sterile fire

The lighter’s glow

The shine gnawing at the candle’s wick

Beside the ashes.

The match’s silver, powdery helmet

Shines as it leaves.

The lighter stays as plaque,

Coating its metal ridges.

The match and candle

Die together

Merging into one final canvas.

The lighter lives on, though.

The match has burned.

The candle burns.

The candle

wax—

Lies now

with the ashes.

The lighter

I mmutable—

Pursuing ceaselessly.

If only it could

Kindle differ

ently,

Maybe the lighter

Could burn with them.

The match.

The candle.

T e.

Lighter