Like a half mast eye of exacerbation
or a cradle in the sky
the product of celestial meandering
has an after image lingering in the dark
playful and true its light skips leagues

As you watch, water laps against another storied shore
stuccoed terra-cotta rise crumbling from the dock
as if the earth itself shored itself up
its purpose far forgotten, relegated to nostalgia
a wafting of a lullaby forever haunts the alleys
its nexus, the river of the dead, promises absolution
where souls of silt meet the distant sea
that steadily yearns for that waning smile
they sink till the unbecoming
to wake when the waves grace them again