Black Hole

I could not pinpoint the exact moment when
the light went out,
Or the very second my fingers touched the flaming wick
to withold the oxygen flow,
But the waxy dewdrops have begun to set,
And no matter how many times I try
the match will not strike in my shaking fist.


I am so afraid of the dark.

Surface Dive

Flames lick at inner depths of the bronchioles,
Touching spaces once considered void of feeling.
Small and perfectly formed pearls of air
Lift from the growing expression of surprise
curled around the lips.
Shapes, contorted, lay just beyond the reach
of claw-like fingers recoiling from a sharp pop in the left ear.
But you musn't break the tension of the water
without clutching the prize of the brick
within your slippery grasp.
No matter how much it hurts.