You flicker on, like a lighthouse's lamp in the darkness.
You are the sun, when the sun goes cold, under the earth.
A shimmer of warmth that glows. That burns.
Drawing cold weary souls like moths to your flame, calling the strays, to your hearth.
Colored, shifting lights, soft on sore tired eyes, you are safe harbor to any and all,
your wings a shelter.
From harsh, flickering streetlamps, and solid shadow, a figure in the charcoal, in the smoke, in the night.

You are wisps and sparks, scattered, shifting, embers turning in the pitch.
You ache like hunger,
like yearning,
like wonder.
Bite like the blistering cold, draped like frost, ache like bones ages old