It flashes on and off

And fades

A red spot in the eye

Becoming darker and darker

But never gone

Because at the last moment

It flashes again


A moment of fullness

And a slow fade to black


A fade to glowing ashes on the hearth

To curtains drawn on all the windows

And to wrists

Slashed with a plastic knife


Like a moth without a flame

The flash fades


To black

To knife

They merge

To both

They fade


                                                                                                            Christopher J. Cramer

                                                                                                            November 14, 1980