Thus Kindled

Outside blankets, 
the cold congeals 
around fingertips and toes -- 
poems and furnace fueled, 
in spurts, 
by outdoor motor chugging on gravel; 
candles yet more warming 
than thin heat, 
stop-and-start -- 
each "stop" overtaken by cold.  
Where a few lights beam, 
the chill also blasts; 
so in darkened rooms I sit 
beside my cherished candles, 
sweet little stubs 
breathing fire and light; 
and I savor, as never before, 
the elemental 
flame.