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Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

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Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.

Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.

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Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all the others were making ships.