Lighthouse - Dylan Melone

Upon the remembrance
of a dark sky, unseen:
The hanged man dances
between my fingers.

Salt in the air
clings to my lips,
feet sinking
in the flowing earth.

Oscillating fog
fills my wheezing lungs.
I reach the lighthouse, decaying,
and gouging the cold stars:

It beckons and I walk
into the hungry mouth.

The walls of its stomach
are lined with old plaster, and lead,
and poisoned water runs down from the ‘bove;
from the room of the needles.

From wish I was formed.
My weary legs
vault me up the stairs.
I hurdle t’ord the past-

With which the sun
breaks through the glass
of this sky, unseen...