In sluggish time, where the wave is like a trembling memory,
A lantern wanders amidst the abyssal dreams of shadows.
Salt – the tear of the seas – kisses its copper,
And the rust whispers: “I am the last of the living.”
The past pulses in a light that has nearly faded,
A second compresses centuries into a transparent instant.
The shadow of an octopus, like a doubt, coiled and vanished,
Hiding the glimmer from eternity and from space.
When minutes drift like ghosts into the unknown,
It remembers: above it – the day, the boat, and the sky.
Its heart is not heat, but a clot of old courtesy,
Shining not for those who wait, but for those who no longer needed anyone.
And even the clock of the depths falls rustily silent,
Only the current of time touches the fragments of copper.
The lantern understands: to shine, one need not glow,
For darkness sees deeper than the eyes of light have ever beheld.
Lost Lantern
21