The lighthouse keeper
keeps dreaming
of the time between
the wreck
roaring of the bell
rounding of the dogs
lugging of the sea logged souls
and when
the wet survivors,
coated in his every garment spare,
could infiltrate his lonely spiral
of routine
and that long
unfinished symphony
he's been whistling

Love's most fierce candle,
a working title

The lighthouse keeper, or
keeper of the house of light

This poem appears in

Pass it Along

© Brendan Bonsack
June 2017

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