My light’s been flickering
in and out
in and out.
It’s hard to know if the flame
is fed or killed by the winds
blowing through my lungs.
I’m coming back to this light, my light,
after months of shedding it,
unassumingly, for others,
for you.
I’m trying to hold tight
as the shadows tangle
around the flame,
trying snuff out
each burning ember.
I want to give light,
but I need to keep some
for the fairies sleeping in tree galls
and under mushrooms;
for the fireflies at midnight; and
for my burning chest
and tired limbs.
I’m circling my light
as if a brown moth
dancing in worship
of the unknown
and unseen.
Some light may slip through
to shine for you, for them,
but she’s my lighthouse,
guiding me across
this glistening sea.
So It Goes 