100 miles from the nearest lighthouse,
will I finally be

home?

Years spin and hiss by. I protect this
solitude with a veil of fog

that mutes the bluest
ocean. There’s really only one

in this world. A great myth
to divide up the salt.

To carve water into poor excuses
for killing off

the other. Let my fear
of never arriving dissipate

in the eye
of the next true storm.