a form of love

watch how she

curves into prayer,

always holding herself,

never holding back;

watch how she

dances with the darkness

from where she was born,

never losing herself,

yet giving it her all,

watch how she is
held by a wick

of tenderness

standing tall

even as she wanders,

steadfast in a love

for himself and her,

even as their roots

melt with a softness

for everything

the world sees

that is not flame,

or form

or love.