Listen to the foghorn moan─
pushing its throaty alarm
through the weight of night,
stilling the pulse of the day,
erasing all distinction.
Perhaps the unknown of its tone
comes straight from the gods
themselves, murmuring
their message in primal
sound. Tonight, its voice
grows louder, more enchanting
than in past, diving to the depths
of cosmic order, closing the doors
of perception before falling
on healing sands
in deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
“Last thing at night…” poem and Saybrook lighthouse photo by Mary O’Connor © 2016
Life Is Full of Sweet Spots 
Wonderfully atmospheric.
LikeLike
Exquisite! The words and picture put you right there!
LikeLike
Beautiful Mary
LikeLike
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! As I began to read the first few lines, I thought to myself that this is another expressive “Mary poem”… and so it is! Thank you for sharing your talent!
LikeLike