To the lighthouse
construction in the swamp
means land no longer full of
or giant primordial children
heard through laps and gasps of a wave
(had to be kept close at all times)—
Refuge by light isn’t dust-shrouded
refuge is a supply cart,
ride it downward.
Not knowing where it leads,
(to a gate in a tunnel, to a well)—
whoever finds three soft heads bob
with no face toward air,
I wouldn’t call them a winner.
Now tourists are glad they didn’t
and we ignore these feelings like a tug of ankle.
Watch furniture move without batting a heartbeat,
light is a glimpse of disembodied hands fanning from
behind closed tower door.
How long this light keeps us happy before we use it up?
The holes will let u s know.
No reviews yet.