The Lighthouse

When the light went out,

if it had but looked down,

past the rocks and waves, heavy now and grey, it

would have seen the dreamer.

Then, from the other side in darkness, it

would have heard the lament, 

turning about, gliding silently,

stretching to search the beach,

while not disturbing even one sand castle.

Caught in the strobe, the stony shore

throws shadows while the lonely sentinel eye

opens and closes.

Turned about, held in the moment,

it looms above the sea

against the darken sky.

If ever it comes to some end,

at a devil’s or angel’s hand,

let it be remembered  - alone,

a seeker of the now

by stops and starts of light and dark

intertwining those below.