Lamp-black for letters,light sinking before him,no wonder the monk believedthe world would endin a whisper of fire.Under the nib, the vellumflexed like a woman’s soft arm,the Gospels an elaborate tattoo.In the cemetery, the stoneslay strewn like petals in moonlight. Now we admire it under glassand light candles onlyfor romance or hurricanes.We trim black wick and…