The Beacon
Dusk, doubt, the growing depth of
an evening sky,
dark setting in as it did that
night,
the forever vastness of outer space
reflecting the emptiness here
inside,
shadowing, colouring, clouding the
mind.
But somewhere out there there has to
be life,
the distance only a matter of time,
a world like our own, its markings
and shades
as uniquely formed as a daughter’s
eye,
distinctly flecked, undeniably hers,
looking back this way through the
miles and years
to
a lantern cupping a golden blaze,
its candle alive with a fierce
blonde flame
for the thousandth time, for as long
as it takes.
