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THE LIGHTHOUSE

(Wednesday, July 31, 1996, 10:16 p.m.)

The light I have found

In this life I have found

Has been elusive and scattered

As whips and lashes of iced winds and rains

Scarred my skin and soul:

Has now a regard for me -

It focused through airy deep billows

Over rising rolls and crests of black,

And shone into my eyes

Like tentative morning sunlight upon an infant's sleeping skin.

Its warmth pulled out a tiny smile

That grew as the miles waned,

Until the soaring source towered far above me;

Its smooth, sea-worn walls of white slickened with salty mist;

Its golden face gazing sagely; invisible arms reaching for an         embrace.

No longer aware of my numbed limbs,

My frigid state of heart,

Stepping inside, melting and dripping and warmed,

I soon forgot all I was before - as

Sweet, hot teas curled down my throat to toes and fingertips.

With sliding eyelids and heavier head, I sunk away from time.