Night Traveller

Kerosene runs through the tissue of the wick the wick burns. Sputter, sputter, the sound of a heavy, incomplete combustion creeps into the ear and the smoke waylays the bright rider of the night. Awake, awake it snatches from the night what is thin and transparent. Awake, awake it steals the sharp moments from the night hoards the magic of treasure behind the weeping blacknesses - the depths of the pupil. Sputter, sputter the wick burns and smokes ...