You score blue with a carbide wheel
Salt wind still sings in your fingertips
The lead came bends where the pattern steals
Night shift coffee tastes like iron ships
You log the colors in a weathered book
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
You solder saints from broken bottle green
Every fracture holds a thread of white
The reel keeps spinning where the lost have been
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
A trucker asks for directions west
You point toward dawn with a coppered thumb
The flask in your pocket fails the test
But the panel glows when the morning comes
You chart the hue on a salt-stained map
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
You solder saints from broken bottle green
Every fracture holds a thread of white
The reel keeps spinning where the lost have been
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
Moths batter the fluorescent crowns
You trim the flux like a wick at dusk
The violet shard won't settle down now
Until the kiln drinks up the cold husk
You watch the annealer eat the night
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
You solder saints from broken bottle green
Every fracture holds a thread of white
The reel keeps spinning where the lost have been
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
No sector light guides the wandering wheel
Just the hum beneath the canopy steel
Your fingers know what the charts conceal
The pattern writes what the storms reveal
Dawn paints the island pumps in gold
You pack the panels in a salt-stained crate
The station hums with its stories untold
One more mile on the old keeper's slate
The logbook closes on another watch
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
You solder saints from broken bottle green
Every fracture holds a thread of white
The reel keeps spinning where the lost have been
Crossroads glass burns in sodium light
The reel keeps spinning where the lost have been
Fiddle fades on the pump island dawn
Harpsichord drips like tide on stone
