The burner and the blackout crave you： pilot
of heat， purveyor of the innocent
candle and cigarette， light we tamed
then fed to the night. Cupped， inviolate，
a winter moth， a prayer we never sent
away， you live in seconds what we name
a life， a sudden cleansing. You Prometheus
come as toothpick， the false fire lent
to our fingertips， lightbulb of the lame
idea： may your phosphorus forgive us，
old flame.