November afternoon

BREATHE

Strike a match, look for the candles

light them to feel the solace of lonely hours

look up from your book

the sky is there, the silence of endings

look down at the street

that’s where the door opens to a new beginning,

what will you write about

when your heart sees so little

wine may open a door or close it,

what is there to say between four walls

and a cold November afternoon?

lips do not open

words live in the pen you may or may not use,

your book embraces this space

breaking bread with the years gone by.

Breathe

Breathe

The candle still burns.