Breadcrumb #581

TUCKER LIEBERMAN

Between swipes of the rolling lighthouse beam,
the grandmother lives in uncertain borders.
She smiles from an archaic marble balcony
with a sea-lapped railing, untraceably narrow.
She is an architect of bondage.
Her table is covered with leftovers.
The sages walk down the dunes, wishing, conspiring,
and, far down the sandy road,
the warriors out-gather, circling camp,
swaying with the hunt in the torchlight.
Your spirit is in close rapport with them,
with the leftovers fed to horses,
with the flotsam turned up by the lighthouse beam,
with the prey scared stiff by the torchlight.
Everything is public, and secret embarrassment is rare
in this patterned reactive universe,
between swipes of the rolling lighthouse beam.

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