lighthouse

i dream you

held, as pink-shell encases

little fleshy forms

that crackle and burrow

to shield from flighted scavenger

though you are vast as the stars and the sands

i dream you, busy

in your kingdom

where the lettered olive and the shark-eye

hold the sun in instant film 

by braided rope and wobbly mast:

i am brined leopard moth

limp, ripe to pick

off your shores for the detrivore

i dream you

wounded deep as waters 

scouring the Higher range 

white-gold with lamenting bones,

swallower of scroll,

keeper of the obstinate and pained,

acolyte of clay

Made to Make

i dream you

my sister wing,

left-handed echo

of the Great Rushing,

ushering into apostleship —

i cry because i cannot embroider

i cry because i am terminally yoked

as the rabbit snacks

on the eaten path 

primed to partake

of Creation and its claim

against itself

i dream you

beautiful, and unfazed.