fires of the lighthouse burning in the bay
waters of the sound sleeping through the day
ostrich of the night half buried in the sand
black-bolt lightning car i don't care who you are
death where is thy sting?
in the trails of sunfish sails and curve stitch string?
black mass ghosts of half-chewed hosts
off the henlopen coast in the saltwater spring
you arrive washed up in the tide
normally alive with your consolation boots of spanish inquisition eyes
prancing around the stage at your advancing age
offering stale communion to the presbyters of time?
rabbits in the grass: is it too much to ask to reproduce the past?
stories of the ice boat wreck kept us warm
sheltered from storm on the ocean floor
we rest in corinthian headdress
and wake in the moonlight
to friends made in factories somewhere
you'll know where to find us
barefooted pilgrims at shrines of our youth: 'our joy was electric
converging on statues of permanence
death where is thy sting?
you ought to put more thought into what you bravely sing
aft-mast ships of straw-short bricks
you'll soon see exactly where my victory is
the spring to its slumber
like a teaspoon of salt in the rain
and i'll wrap up your absence
and friends made in factories somewhere