Now I Can See

A tear
Scratching
Across a rough surface...

From a square
Package
Commonly lit
With pick-up sticks...

One is chosen
To shape the air
Bluish while
In smoky flare...

Crawling down
A ticklish spine
Until burning
At the fingertips...

Too hot to handle
The match is dropped
Shaken off
As the fire extinguishes...

COPY WRITE©2009

poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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