When the Beacons Burn Out

In ten to fifteen years the beacons will burn out, 

and then there will be no more light
for us to follow through the storm.

The storm that systematically beats down
on the backs of weary travelers
hoping to make it without holes in the hull,

the storm where flashing eyes of G-d
are sparse and inconsistent,
the storm that paints day black

as night, that settles fog onto seamless horizon,
that terrifies the unscientific
and casts doubt upon the reasonable.

We will pretend we’re not, but we will be lost
at every moment, at every turn,
when the beacons burn out.

Those beacons that led us
even though they were lost too.
Those beacons that we took for granted

in the cast of blue sky, in the pale
of white cloud marquee.
Those beacons that clipped the waves

and held tight while the moon pulled
and pushed the blanket sea.
Those beacons that will burn out

but whose shell will remain
like an unlit lighthouse on the rocks
of memory for my brother and I to recall

as we become dying beacons in our old age.