The Lighthouse

D.W. Baker

I saw the pale spire of the lighthouse, vanishing softly into the distant fog.

Surviving on blood oranges staining shaking hands red –

It had to be the first building after two weeks hiding in the waves.

Circling around, raising my eyes to rove the heights –

Surviving on blood oranges staining shaking hands red –

I quickly closed the distance and went headfirst through the dark space in the floor.

Circling around, raising my eyes to rove the heights –

Hands behind me pushed away – stairway slanting – air – into the gasping air –

I quickly closed the distance and went headfirst through the dark space in the floor.

They smiled first with greening eyes, then quietly pulled me under the surface.

Hands behind me pushed away – stairway slanting – air – into the gasping air –

I slowly sank deeper. Another bubble of breath escaped.

They smiled first with greening eyes, then quietly pulled me under the surface.

It had to be the first building after two weeks hiding in the waves.

I slowly sank deeper. Another bubble of breath escaped.

I saw the pale spire of the lighthouse, vanishing softly out of the distant fog.