At the end of a dream, after the burning down,
is a sorrow, there and fixed
like a blockage to ensure failure of the flow
like a broken pipe,
letting flood the lighthouse tower.
It will drown the lighthouse,
even the tip and the ancient bricks below.
And in sinking and dispersing its form
under the water’s pressure it will make a coral bed
for otherwise homeless creatures.
It will make an underwater greenhouse, a place for
tiny beings to hide, find shelter and explore.
It will go on longer down there, below the surface,
go on past decades, generations and nuclear explosions.
It will not be recognised for the tower and steady guiding light
it once held, but it will morph into a thriving community.
Its concrete flesh will grow breathing skin –
slippery green living follicles. It will endure
the winters above and the blank-eyed predators
maneuvering through its make-shift corridors.
This sorrow will take and it will be final.
And then it will give,
infusing a richer purpose, nurturing beating life
into the landscape of its shattered,
now restructured, bones.
About Allison Grayhurst:
Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Five times nominated for “Best of the Net”, 2015/2017/2018, she has over 1200 poems published in over 475 international journals and anthologies. She has 21 published books of poetry, six collections and six chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com