Lighthouse's Lament

I

No ivory tower, I hardly stand. Barely soldered

and being beaten by cold waves, I was some

limp lighthouse, seemingly inebriated by sober circumstance.

Now I list, and enumerate my treatises inaccurately:

during deluge, via sundial.

II

But wildest fantasy is so revealed!

Heart once rent made healed, and unsturdy joints repaired

while I miscounted each trial day as respite.

Comfort and warmth renewed the spirit diurnally,

and after light, the tides rocked my foundations so sublimely,

too regularly for seduction, but inciting excitement nonetheless.

If I had seen with night-vision perhaps I'd have recognized

how I deluded my Self. How, safe in Sound, I played fodder

for Halibut and Flounder, Mussel, and Blue Mako preying,

nonchalant. Maybe I was confused by my own smooth-ascending

striped façade, lulled into compliance, as if at a barber's edged appendage.

III

When we stood together, stoic before perfect storms

I had to but rotate, see your lens flash and respond in silent reflection

from across leagues and through pillowy, billowing clouds.

Now the barges drag our carcass from the bed with every dredge,

oblivious, selfish as time and bleeding skin that wont let me scar.

I taste you in the briny solution, corroding me with tear-stuff,

eating of my strength, and indeed well fed. The date impends;

only you and small shoals will duly note the perturbations.