wheeling jagged edges
above the shallows
of a rough Dover sea
I am a lone bird.
My feathers gleam in the beacon of
the lighthouse where gentle swells
pulse against rocky shores
where you held me tenderly
like a treasured pearl.
We’ve abandoned the lighthouse
that seems to lean closer to the sea
waiting in vain at the tide swept shore.
The beam has ceased its search,
still each time I pass I tip my wing.