If You Are Light

If You Are Light, 

and if you were the beeswax too,
 and a newly blown glass mold is
an aegis to your wick.

and if you, before you were poured

 were viscous, facile as a clam tide
on the rare vehement ebb.

And if, when the wick was set

mid-way flaccid over the little lip

of the quick limpid pour,

you nipped the rim, and then a slight scald

or singe. when you're lit, then as all blood rises

under your skin it is within, first a sea-

  rugosa leaf bud slowly opening, remember,
it would be you who first drew near

to the wound, when you were fire,

after years of dormant and solid pause, 

and  you'v been called to go out as a melting thing,
 even as you step into the dark, ahead

of everybody else.   And you whisper

to the blemish: shhhh, sweat

heart—shhhh, remember me?