Smithereens Press Chapbooks SP14 - The Lighthouses by Daragh Breen | Page 14

The constant wind is a ragged gown
that trails mosses and lichens across the bare rock.
Lone trees, like soft wax
blown onto the wind
and stiffened in an instant
by the cold of the night in which they are formed,
keen in the drizzle for their landscape.
Narrow tombs of stone walls stretch
their bones around the tiny fields.
Out on the water, random light
plays on the surface
making a lure of it all.

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