Tish Davis

Lighthouse

hoof prints

on the wet sand

the lengthening waves

An unexpected gust─I grip the red railing. I'm fifty feet above the water and alone on the gallery of a lighthouse.

the seagull

not quite a silhouette

in the transparent air



After staring, for the longest time, at the hospital band around my wrist, I close my eyes. Unable to synchronize hands with feet, unable to release the hold of cold metal, I allow wind to sculpt my form. Somewhere behind me is the doorway.



whale oil lamp

the light

on spiral stairs