Random Acts of Poetry

Match

Electricity lost,
that little redhead
exploded for us,
igniting a tiny
scratch dazzle
in the big, dark place.

Your face bloomed,
orange and guileless
in the match-light:
a flicker
out of childhood,
out of a sulfurous dream.

Fade to black.
So it is with our kind.
I endured it,
tight-lipped,
not despairing.
I let drop
that little cinder bone,
the dead stick.