Build an iron tower  

Let it touch

the edge of the sun.

Hard by, the low tide line.

Inside a collector

cleans and arranges,

sea damaged souls.

 So if peril’s teeth graze, 

You must heed the light

that keeps no shadow.

Eighty eight wood piles,

glacial moraine.

Builders with sea water

in their leather boots.

Hammers, pulleys

iron plates and bolts.

Three argand lamps.

A trinity of beams

on night’s dark devil breath.

A three eyed cyclops,

illuminates the way for

storm beaten ships.

But for the keeper

darkness can haunt

and sometimes

twist the knife of

doubt and despair,

in solitude stretched.

In the now days

all is quiet here.

A light surrendered.

Wave washed barnacle house,

forgotten on the bleak estuary.

This tower dreams

of balmy nights

and tropical seas.

Wishing only to sleep,

warm and undisturbed.

Under clear, star bolted skies.

©️ Dai Fry 10th March 2020.