Mourning Lighthouses

Dream as if a lost child

By the fermented seaside

Encasing memories as if shells

Hands running into rivers

Of vertical salt amongst hissing geysers

Great watery laughter twisted

To the eyes’ starry void


Shadows beckoning the horizon

Within grilles of clouds

Hissing, frothing, deliberate

Mourners of the caravan and autumn


I am the lighthouse of darkness


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