The Match

Flick a match
And hear the soft scratch
A slight light burns
Meanders
And steadies

You hold out
Your palm
You shield the flame
From stray wind

The match approaches the wick
Which doesn't respond
Instantaneously

You persevere
You hold the match
Close, very close
To the wick
Until the flame is shared

Your hand still there
You reach out
To put the lamp
In its own home

The tiny flame
That once wasn't
Will now
Light your home