Peter LaBerge

She flashes her golden pupil at passing ships
A stony, piercing reflection
Chained to the rocks
Gazing at the impending storm

Shifting her tepid gaze towards the sky
She concentrates on the white-capped waves
Begging to be rescued

With nautical grace she yawns
Exhaling salt and seawater
A frothy work of art
Her eye shuts but she wills it
Open with her persistent blink

Like a foghorn inhales sea spray, sleeping quietly
She is lost in slumber, helping wanderers
Find their way home.