Passing The Torch, Eli Holley


Nocturne, 60X36, John Brosio

 

Passing the Torch

The lighter is running out of fluid.
I flick repeatedly, scraping wheel against flint
with a dazed thumb, calloused from years of this.
I get nothing but sparks.

On a third attempt, the tiniest flame manifests;
the cobalt fingernail of an ancient infant,
its tip dipped in white gold.

As it begins to collapse, sucked in
on itself, I reach the scroll of my cigarette
and watch it ride up the pale stalk
on an orange current, toward its new meaning.

I breathe in; exhale
a swirling blossom
of blue marble.

______________
Eli Holley

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