The last lamplighters
We climb the veils of woven mist,
Where time dissolves and stars persist,
Our hands coax flames from shadowed thread,
And light the paths the lost have tread.
We herd the fog on silver brooms,
Awake the night with whispered tunes,
We teach the snow to hum its prayer,
And fold the wind through tangled air.
We sail in cups that catch the light,
Pour dawn from hours stitched in night,
Our shadows rise like restless rye,
And scale the quiet ladders high.
We trap the dark with seeds of flame,
Nameless in dusk, we feed the flame,
We bind the tides with threads of hair,
And float the sky on breathless air.
We are the last lamplighters here,
Who guard the hush when stars appear,
With trembling hands, we cradle night,
And rock the moon till morning’s light.
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