I, Lantern

I was not lit for glory.

Not for grand arrivals

or the certainty of return.

I was made

to keep a pulse of warmth

in places the world forgets.

They set me here

a boundary between the lost

and what can still be found.

My wick remembers every trembling hand

that has struck the match.

Each one burns differently

hope, regret, longing

but all smell faintly of survival.

I have watched faces

approach and vanish,

their shadows spilling long across the ground,

their hearts arguing with the dark.

Some came running,

some crawling,

some carrying nothing but their breath.

You

you walk as if apology is weight.

But I see you.

I steady myself for you.

The glass between us

is not a wall

it is a way of keeping the light from devouring itself.

Even flame must learn restraint.

Even fire must learn patience.

Come closer,

not for warmth,

but to see what remains

when all else fails to shine.

I will not call your name.

I am older than that.

But if your eyes remember me,

then for one soft instant,

we are the same thing

a trembling persistence

against an endless night.