Archaeology of Light

We gather ancient photons, light folded across light-years, reading backwards through time's long corridor.

A star extinguished ages ago still speaks in violet and rose, still insists on its breathing presence in the geometry of our eyes.

We are always burying what we've only just discovered— the universe a gallery of ghosts, each ray a final breath we swallow like communion.

Here darkness is older than light. Here what we see has already died, and we are the last to know it.