The Last Lantern small She wipes her hand on

She wipes her hand on her trousers and leaves the chain unfastened

of green things dreaming in the dark

It’s a moment suspended in time

the weight of hands that once held me

and a faint gleam catches the eye

The Last Lantern small She wipes her hand onShe slips past the last lantern before it can claim her. The path is still behind her neat, expected, watched. Ahead, the trees close in, leaves catching what little light the moon is willing to give. It doesnt matter. She knows this way. Or maybe the way knows her. Branches tug lightly at her as she moves, not enough to stop her, just enough to notice. The air smells sharp and green, alive in a way the open paths never are. Somewhere deeper in the