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Thursday 20 November 2014

To the Lighthouse

From salt-encrusted rocks,
seals’ mournful cries
echo across the waves,
telling of ocean-loss.

The slim white needle flicks a golden beam
across the waves.
Elusive as a rainbow, it dissolves.
Repeats its steady pulse.

We’re drawn in with the tide,
then spat back.
‘No visitors allowed.’
The lighthouse
remains forever separate.


© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

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