The cold of the glass melds into the cold of the air
as the night deepens and the candle light glistens
on the concave of the enclosing glass protecting it.
The warmth of the candle flame melts the cool breeze
of the late winter night with a gentle rising sheen
on the mouth of the glass like sunrise over the horizon.
The slowly retreating buffer of the cold glass with
the ever pressing warmth of the flame creeps onto my
shrinking grasp of the now unwelcoming warm glass.
The slight burns, the precarious grip, the everturning
inclination whether to keep holding on or to finally,
at long last, decide ever slightly letting go.
Flipped Serendipity 