Issue 73, Spring-Summer 1978
He strikes a match and she strikes a match;
these first two
go out before they can light the candle
hanging from the ceiling.
They put them in the empty ashtray; smoke trailing
from their black heads
like two World War I fighter planes going down,
side by side, in an open field of brown grass.
She strikes a match and he strikes a match;
both fail. With their hands above the candle