these days i am full of prayer and haunting. i am a sitter in an evening full of shadows deep and quickened by candle light. how it is that the circle is drawn with the dancing edge of flickering and they are lively at bay as whispers. approaching receding. these days i am full of prayer and haunting.

the way that
figments are snide in their obtuse predation
this only light enough to make shadows disappears me in melting segments
in light in dark in light in dark
with its sputtering dance

nothing is full, only foreboding