As She Is

The ships sail their own path to the lighthouse; she is the one with the white and gray patches standing in the tall grass.
She is enough for them to keep plugging along.
Look closely at her physique, and you can see the etchings of those who have come, insistent, that she was more than what she was: a light for the lost.
Humanity's strikes against her surface are
all over this flare in the morning and night.
They don't know what she sees when the ships come:
How she fills up enough to stay as she is.

Priorities

She thought she could be carried by letters and numbers: the caricatures march: one by one, hurrah:

carrying her into the hole

where she will stay.

Unless the light is shone: in the living room where the furniture is in blacks and browns and grays: you could sink into that couch and never leave: the material devouring every bit of you.

Follow the light

from which no darkness could extinguish.

Grab those plastic grocery bags and give them

to him.

He knows what to do.