Low tide hums beneath the workshop wall
Glass catches breath where wild roses crawl
A keeper watches from the inland shore
Light finds its color then finds something more
Copper foil wraps each jagged edge
Solder smells like kelp on rocky ledge
She hums a tune the foghorn knows
Blue and red where the north wind blows
Hands that cut the spectrum thin
Know the storm that lives within
Every pane a lens she grinds
To catch the dark and spin it blind
Glass lantern in the overgrown
Where stolen light becomes her own
No tower needed no sweeping beam
Just color waking in a dream
Morning lifts the salt from off her cheek
Tools lie quiet no words to speak
The yard holds light in shattered piles
Each fragment waits for drying tiles
Hands that cut the spectrum thin
Know the storm that lives within
Every pane a lens she grinds
To catch the dark and spin it blind
Glass lantern in the overgrown
Where stolen light becomes her own
No tower needed no sweeping beam
Just color waking in a dream
Winter brings the nor'easter's bite
She works by candle through the night
Red glass glows like a harbor mark
Steady hand in the freezing dark
No logbook kept no watch to stand
Just color mapped by calloused hand
The sea remembers every spark
The glass keeps burning after dark
Glass lantern in the overgrown
Where stolen light becomes her own
No tower needed no sweeping beam
Just color waking in a dream
Now I walk where the lens once turned
Where colored fire is slowly burned
She lifts a pane to morning gray
And sends the light the keeper's way
Glass lantern in the overgrown
Where stolen light becomes her own
No tower needed no sweeping beam
Just color waking in a dream
The hum remains when she is gone
A beacon built from colored dawn
