Behind each eye

and beyond the far horizon

This deep lake of oil

fears the bright candle

A tide of carbon deposits

rolls to a pause

Deceptive depth

rattles with apprehension

From the East

the candle maker presents his wares

Nervous polluted waters

recoil to the heat

Rising like a phoenix

from the ashes of yesterday

Depositing strings of wax

into the sea of industry below

No sparks, no fallen flame

just the fear of

The chance, the danger

real and considered