‘Vigil’

When you lived,
no-one could hold a candle to you.
Tonight, small flames of memory
which scald the hands with wax tears
yearn to be tongues
uttering your name in light.

You burned bright,
illuminated right –
the vigilance of science,
the grace of tolerance;
this silence now
a deep, warm gathering of breath
to blow out guttering words:
stigma, ignorance, fear.
Let them know death.

One lit taper touches another,
contagious with fire,
and darkness glitters; brief flowers
each with its own smoke ghost -
they could be dancing, that close;
the living holding candles
for the lost.