Nawiiiiiiiiija

it rains hard enough that i can finally sit quietly, as if lighting candles. maybe there is nowhere else to be. a cup of water trembles on the table as if afraid, kept too long from the useful yearning of roots, from the anonymous way rain falls. i light one candle then another, quietly, as if lighting candles. the rain keeps pressing damp invisible flowers against the window, reminding me how long the near-dark lasts, how the woods at the edge of the yard never see, but thirst enough to catch fire. each candle moves like the rain, each quieting life from lives of their own. in the half-light coming in, i can pretend