The lighthouse sits so that from afar,
it appears to float into the sea,
where the ominous callings of ships
seem to melt into the salt spray.
And I sit,
close enough to hear the secret sounds,
but with distance growing behind my eyes.
Upon my rocking chair,
I can feel the surge of waves
and taste the night waning beneath the clock's hands,
as the low golden light
flickers before settling
upon your sleeping form.