a filament warbling
a broadcast of warmth
just what’s needed you said
to keep the dark as a triangle in the corners
where walls meet. 
Angles to collect the half-saids and the cold,
more fuel for the pyramid under us
that subsurface of incoherence 
the regret almost plumbing to where we started,
but that ember
hostaged and, 
feebled and,
flickers on with the courage of sunlight.