A Blue Flame Means Complete Combustion

Silver-tipped like blue

fescue or artemisia, aura

of painted fern: they shimmer

at dusk as they leave

the nets that held them here,

spasming, 

          for a small duration. Say

their names if you know what they are. 

Make of that moment a memorial, a wick 

you could lift and straighten from out 

of a vessel of molten wax, small flare

that also burns blue before dying.    



 

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