Lady on The Rock

The horizon frowns,
and the rain sets down upon the sea in sheets
Abigail's homeward bound on stepping beach,
she whose bedroom window is off a pinnacle
she who lives on the edge of genesis.

Like surf, like waves
there's an affinity in repetition
betwixt quiet intensity and disquieting stillness
Abigail's eyes are those of the beacon she mans,
she of the darkest hours and reddish day breaks,
she who has sea shell hearing,
she of the oiled hands, she on the rock of acute austerity,
she like a hermit crab, jealous of her private doings
she of no man nor need of one. Neptune be blessed,
for she is married to a lighthouse.