I trim the wick at morning light
Pine sap smells like tar and brine
Ginger cat walks telephone wire
His paws find purchase on the line
He sleeps on poetry and pine
Where poles cut clean across the sky
No lamp remains to guide him home
Just books and wind and lullaby
Pages turn with salt-stiff fingers
He curls on spines of whale and ship
The glass hums low with voltage hiss
Current sings through copper veins
He sleeps on poetry and pine
Where poles cut clean across the sky
No lamp remains to guide him home
Just books and wind and lullaby
Winter gales shake the crossarms loose
Heavy snow bends the pine tops down
He hunts the mouse in frozen stacks
While I watch beams sweep ocean round
He sleeps on poetry and pine
Where poles cut clean across the sky
No lamp remains to guide him home
Just books and wind and lullaby
Logbook closed light decommissioned
Kerosene tins
