Moonbeams, Shadows and a Lighthouse
The sky’s a velveteen black
and the moon mingles its milky chalk
without respite
into a bland surface of vanishing ink.
You needle a match into life
within your palms blistered with the sun
Your eyes are torn beacons of a lighthouse
that mirror the changeling tides
careening apparitions
of sailboats on rough seas
and when the spark strikes out
we look on beyond our environs
unraveling silhouettes of the unseen
and something of a serenity
washes over us
like a cosmic intervention
of summer with winter
of an undulating restlessness in stillness
as far out
the vast sea swallows yet another moonbeam.
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