Menorah

eight nights, eight lights
in this first fire I see myself
young and golden
glittering and warm
your body next to mine in
summer evening glow
each flame a memory
twisting wax spins time like a
dying wick
and we burn out quickly
each night passing swiftly
the flames increasing from
two to five to seven and
then the last night (eight)
I am reborn, a new year, new light
Your memory a page written and cast off
a book closed but well-kept
you don't collect dust
like my menorah, abandoned on a shelf
for a whole year before
set to life again

-GSS 2008