Fell. Scratched his knee.
Lit a match. Saw the whole room dance.
Coffee table had tripped his gait and pronounced him fallen.
Mumbling in the new dancing color he vowed again.
“Light the match before you journey into darkness.”
Broken vow. He said it with half courage, half fools talk.
Journey seemed sweeter in pitch black until the bruises tallied and the match showed him a better way.
Mumbling man. Fumbling man.
Do you know him?
Lighting a match after he has red inside out.
Saying a prayer only after dark curses.
Vow again with me.