There are times that I am unmoored, adrift and stolen by some tides, lunar or otherwise that nudge around the days...around the nights in a blackened evening with very little shapes to guide me towards a horizon.
You blink at me like some far off lighthouse...the quick flash in an evening that I may miss if not looking carefully.
I have been in the rain at sea, when the water matches the color of the sky and the drops and it blends and obscures. It hides and there is no land and it is hard to see a horizon at all.
I have been in the rain on a street, a sudden gust that has captured us unaware, and your hair slick wet and darkening and your eyes guiding me across to safety, a place to find cover.
I find that if I can be tied against you with some salt-laden ropes and some fine sailor's knot that I can survive any storm, be buffeted against by the most tropical depressions...that you still me with your hand and you ground me in a smile.
Lighthouses were built to warn, to stave off the approach and prevent being grounded up the rocks. Your lighthouse eyes are beacons however, inviting and asking to come closer.
I pull in the water to drift your way, to glide or sail or paddle...to have you bring me in and let me sidle up and find my haven.
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