Two images sit side by side here, and the poem leaves us to connect them. The first is stark and shocking: a ring of police officers aim their guns at a baby. It is hard to picture anything more lopsided, and the short, clipped lines make it feel like a snapshot we can't look away from.
Then the poem moves indoors. The room is full of shadows and "so many / unlit / lamps." The line breaks slow the words down, so each unlit lamp feels like a missed chance. The title, "Candles," hints at small lights that could be lit but aren't. The last line, "Daylight not worth saving," is bleak and flat. The speaker seems numb, even defeated, as if a world that can do this to a baby has lost any reason to hold on to light. The mood is cold, heavy and quietly angry, and the poem lets the silence after that final line do much of the work.