A multitude of lighthouses
Mutter between the blackness’
Hooked into the bundled skies
With voices of guttural radiance.

The children gather like ferns
Into the skirts of their mothers
With brows of squalid ivy and
They waltz in linen hoops.

Candelabra tip to pour lily-fire
Over the cellars in a cascade of blazing honey
And with the winks of midnight come
The ringing births of the oceans.

Moss rains over the graveyard in
Velvet quilts as carols are embroidered
Into the rafters in paper chains and
As high blues heave and sputter their
Fanfare as returning conquerors, bathed
In the trumpets of the brazen sea-coves.

Penance, perchance, says
The widow with teeth woven
From quivering nectarines.
Penance, perchance, captures your fidelity.