Written in June 2009, but revised since. Still not the greatest, but at least it wasn’t written at Starbucks.
Blurred orange shapes of candle flames
reflected in a window—
memories of dim, dying light,
an identical image in mirroring glass
touching itself, not willing
to believe it truly glowed.
When the tiny flickers go out,
darkness destroys luminance,
the mirror image accepts itself.
A prayer goes into the pale light
of a crescent moon.
One prayer spins in smoke
from five small candle flames.
One prayer: a reflection of desire
from a yearning heart,
to affirm it will be His choice.
He may refuse, but I will trust.