Now, this is most important: Before the light in their eyes flicks off
you must ignite the wick, set it near the head, be ready to reignite it in
case breath or wind or rain snuffs out the flame. If you trip, the
mortal’s thread will be at risk of seizure because the distance
between our posts is thin as sin. This truth is absolute – there
are always harvesters lingering in the dark, eager to swallow mishaps. This is
why we count their beats, why we carry fire. For the unfortunate someone
who wakens near the pitch-blackened shore, it’s a psychedelic-like
experience: turning in circles without a compass and being drawn to a
grove of trees, dropping apples red and green. Shaded, the pretend signalman
doesn’t appear threatening. Its humble rags hide hungry innards, while the swinging
basket cradles a soul-stained axe and chains. The lost don’t get a
second chance; they’re reckoned bound forever. Thus, the wick – the lantern.
© 2023 Crystal Sidell