A Candle

by Harry Parks

All flickers and All fluctuations stopped
With a switch, so the doctor’s fingers shut your tissue eyes
And there was death, like there was life

Your hands, without a pulse, grew cold
Searching for my blood, our momentary grasp was a harmony singing
What I’ve now learnt was meant

For deaf ears and other senses,
We find grief in life, like birth in death, and light the flame
Of a candle so it flickers, so it fluctuates in gold

To be a phoenix is a myth to illuminate
Our sacred transience of connection and parting
Growth and decline in the seconds of
A breath, a pause, a space, a birth