The Lighthouse

By | 1 July 1998

The image of a lighthouse keeps recurring,
toylike with diamond patterns down its walls.
A harlequin in black and white that flashes
on and off and on and off: highlighting a thin
peninsular. Below it wooden houses
with verandahs overlooking sand
and more sand, inside living rooms
not confined by walls and lives
not defined by clocks, just the beam
at night that blinks awake calm
and blinks again on the illumination
of this—one second hung in the night.
An instant stripped clean, pure
in the sweep of light. Invisible in the day

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