I light my candle
because it exists.

Damn candle,

brightness piercing
through my tears.

From star to star,
from molten blob to smoldering ice,
so many journeys from hot to cold
to get things just right.
Ah, so many fields of foliage
 — waves of miracle —
each unfolding in their time
 to the sun,
wave overlapping waves.

When I wonder at my shoots,
or fuss at how graceful my leaves,
or worry how straight my tendrils,
I gaze around and reflect
 wherein I am a part of;
I am beautiful
 because I am a part of you.