Lighthouse

Coy mirage in a mist that caresses uninvited, your angel white surface leaving dew like love tokens to gather in torrential rivulets that slowly erode a worthy demeanor. Fog's cloying touch, spying a window of opportunity clings lower, sticking to salt saturated sills. Muffled moaning honks escape, in tempo from dew's sealed envelope. Opaque grey blankets pushed back as the wind rises, well rested revealing, momentarily, a stalwart presence. Compassed and calm the ocean captures the surrendered image. Trickling moonbeams dare to stray bursting forth from clouded vision to play peek-a-boo under your parental glow as the mist curls tickling your rocky feet. Barnacles cling, yearning to climb upwards like children hanging on their mother's skirt. The rocks upon which you balance crawl with undulating flecks of sienna and amber seaweed, Atlantic's bouyant wanderers. Occasionally a tolling bell greets you from a distant bobbing buoy coerced into emitting echoing clamor by the swell of a lazy wave. Presenting eternally the evidence of your alert, you reside perpetual on a sea of altered tides. September 2001 Maria HansonSeptember 2001, Written October 2nd, 2001 © on Oct 02 2001 01:20 PM PST   0 • 10