Candling

It spouts up brown

And pointed

Among stark sharp

Green needles

Of a pine tree

Near the end

Of the parking lot

Dripping neatly

With the last

Drops of

Morning dew

Gray skies

So fluffed up

With expectant rain

I can hardly breathe

New life

Grows out of

Old life

Rising high and sharp

But not without pain

So when the storms

Come and go

And explodes

With screams

And flashes,

The aftermath

Oozes with release,

This candling

Against the rise

Of dark skies

And dreary times

This passion of rebirth

I feel deep inside me.