Wind-surf spray the night long,
tidal dreams broken only by the wind’s song;
a clipped and ragged gull clings above
the outcropping of an old light-house’s ruins.
We sought the shelter of that light,
the stone tower leaning against the night;
its creaky steps leaking in the summer rains,
where the tumbling waves broke over us continually.
Even today I’m reminded of that dark time,
a night repeated by my troubled mind;
when she who followed me went north beyond,
where the boundaries still mark the darkening shoals.
The stark proclivities of the jetties wreckage
still harbor excess memories of that fated slippage;
and a last regret still haunts the hazardous watch
where I sail round and round this cold and lonely rock.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.