Vigil

It was growing dark in the ancient house
Through which I wandered, and no lamp
Could be lit. The guests
Who entered, surprised by the darkness,
Asked me why I wasn't making light.

I took a candle from my pocket,
But I didn't have a single match on me,
I set it, unlit, in a mug
And it passed from hand to hand like that,
Until I discerned a flicker
Which gathered us all at the empty table.

Monica Pillat