The darker the evening, the warmer its light --
a candle's flame.
It whispers to the eyes,
conjures the heart's nostalgia,
breathes smoke like a child dragon:
a candle's flame.
When the orchid candle weeps beside you,
and its tears of purple rain a stinging, hot sweetness,
you will then see the shape of my heart's longing:
Forlorn, desperate in a wilderness of absence,
weeping its waxen tears
and longing to find the way home.
Come, lead me home,
to where that eager light is shining even now.
