a dish of half burnt matches

have you ever watched a flame die?
a small one, before it could grow
strong enough to call itself a fire?

try it. a dish of half burnt matches.
sometimes they don’t all catch
they don’t need to. just watch.

the flame starts slowly
bringing in others to share the warmth.
a couple matches, a couple flames.

together. burning brightly. running out.
the flame, the flames, grow smaller together
pulled in their different directions.

watch.
listen.
i can hear it.

the flames tremble.
they quiver.
they must go their own way.

the distance grows and yet
they reach for each other.
they cannot coexist.

they splutter
and claw across the difference
and cling perilously to existence.

using feeble energy
they tear themselves apart.
they bridge the gap.

and vanish. together.
briefly there were separate flames
that smolder into separate nothings.

—thirty january twentyfour