Lighthouse

Watching, in the depths of an ebony night sky,
stars long dimmed by the icy shadow of a storm.
Sea swept vessels are stemless petals
settling into the abyss,
crashing waves, whispers
from a forgotten dream.
A half-peaking eye spies
a plucked flower batted about on
the wind and wonders if it is seen.
Whether a spark of wisdom can
be found, alone, in the dark,
or in silence.
Questioning each apparition:
true visions or the games
of a nervous system of ocular-ity
Thinking it would be wonderful
to know when a lone leaf would
set its sail to the bleakest
of shimmering hope.
Knowing that the best dreams
are unexpected.