Hallowed Light

Dying light still travels,
over the celestial barrens,
where the expanse still devours it.
It moves backward, too,
in spite of skeptic bones
and the hard eyes of telescopes.
It cascades down the ragged edges
of humanity, like wild honey,
dripping
from vagabond lips.
It cracks the rugged plains
in the sharpened night,
like a hand raised to a thief.

It cost quite a lot
To keep the light on.