The Woodstock Poems: Candlestock

How does a writer sit alone for hours? Sometimes I light a candle for comfort. Choosing a new one at Candlestock is like choosing a new friend.


Consolation’s own pilot light.
An altar for a single pure thought.
Night pulls back into shadows & spies as
Drips draw rough spines down the wax sides.
Left alone, the flame might
Elope with the curtains, but not tonight.
Scholars have written scrolls by candlelight.
Trappists have chosen its truth over revolutions.
Once we tried to live by the stars, but learned we
Can’t survive in the dark. A solitary
Knuckle of flame is our key.

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