LIGHTHOUSE
I live in the world where fish are stars.
The alarm clock goes at six PM.
I wake, and behind the welcoming dark
I think of Pharos far away,
while around my islet's lacy hem
the luminous gulls trace meteors.
I light the lantern and the sea is day
where-ever I turn, and under my long
gun-barrel gaze, to the utter shores,
that day is mine. The blazing lights
on the distant coast rage blue and strong
where gaiety never goes to bed
it seems. However, I've seen its flights
of streets at furlough : Nobody there !
A glow in a curtain, an outlined head
in one top room, or a single waiter
standing blankly among the chairs.
The avenues of bare perspectives, radiant.
It is inexplicable. But there are greater
mysteries on the ocean claim my thought.
The wide rib-patterns of combers slant
the night-side of the earth. The cyclones
spawn
phantasmagoria of air and water.
I retire with cocoa in the dawn.