When I was fifteen and worse

19th January 2009

When I was fifteen and worse, I wrote like I was icing a chandelier, dripping crystals from the bird's nest metal to shoot light every which way.

I am older now - and less caught up with dazzle.

A candle will do for a beacon and I stumble after, fumbling wicks and tallow to draw out a single stem of flicker bloom and leaf shadow.

But these hands remember chandeliers and, sometimes, they stray.

Nothing then but to bring them back to short words, shorter sentences. And from brevity, begin again.