She’s watched us a while now,
Traced our growing webbed constellation glow
Through her first, everlasting night
Lonely, though not how is often presumed,
A lighthouse keeper, solitary beacon,
Maintaining the mirror shine
Of her swinging lamp
As she dances in reels
Through the spray of the waves
The first that Eve sang to
In her secret moments,
And always the confidant worthy of trust,
She will hear our last whispers
Before we go dark,
Leaving her to lure fishes
With long rendered echoes
And await her own dusk:
A single rare coin growing dim
In the murk of the water.
John Clifford Poetry 