Lighthouse

deep in its own mouth
the night river carves two shores

fog horns and cattle wail for a clearer coast
and home reaches out its ancient arm
a tunnel a deep well of water and light

a tomb a cradle
a passage to either side

A Jar Fool

we seal our fools in jars
but they whistle without air

trained in any tongue
they prefer to speak Jargon
and on any subject
are eloquent as crickets
rubbing their lusty legs together
until they spark

we pickle these pointed hats in jars
pour them no liquor at the party
because their bright neckties
add color to the punch
and they straddle the guest-of-honor’s ear
like cats licking a broken egg

fools feel close to their masters
mash their faceprints on our glasses
our mirrors
mockingbirds grown silent
until we start to sing them to sleep
and they sing ahead of us
as if they had taught us the words