Light Pierced

The wrong things hunt the right ones
As the right ones search for hosts.

Light does not pierce the dark.
Light makes a home in the dark

It would not want to be pierced,
But the dark fades out and bleeds

In light it’s held for too long,
Like the host it is. What hunts

For the right light is the face
That floats in the dark and feels

A faint dance of rain like pins
On its skin as light slips in.