candelabra 

what i have done to balance the ghosts.
a candle in every hand. the hallway 
as long as a swallowed word. 
i forgot how to eat & became 
a wick. begged on corners
for a light to shrink me. 
we sit in the living room
in front of a television with nothing
but stock markets on it. once i thought
about buying a piece of the death machine.
we walked in orbits around the city.
you talked like you knew where all
the spaceships were going.
i believed you. neither of us like to be wrong.
i guess no one does but we are
especially bad at it. one place
where we differ is that sometimes i think
it is a kindness to not tell the truth. you once 
promised me that we were not going
to have to hold another flame.
then it came & then we were running
& you were saying, "you are never
careful enough." it is hard because
it is true. i break at least one bowl
every month. always like holding
a dead bird. i should learn kintsugi,
the gold repair, but i don't have 
enough hope for it. instead i take the shard
out to the foot of the honey locust
where we have our graveyard. 
i know if i get one more flame
i will have to change. i will not be able
to hold my fists up in the night.
when i am worried about money
i think of you lit by only candles,
orange glow flickering 
across your face & your shadows escaping.
you have a whistle in your pocket
which you use to call our front door.
it too is coming apart. the knob,
like a choked coin face. i have a lighter
on the windowsill. tell me, even if
it is not the truth, how do you know
we can keep it bright enough?