You Wanted to See the Lighthouse
Like everything you kept it
at a distance. For a long time
this was between us. A sharp hill
between towns, a stone caught
in your throat. One day you croaked,
said you were going to see her.
And I knew it was peeling, the windows
smashed teeth. Its white was gray
and green with sore weeds, broken
bottles, burnt plastic, the smell
of below the bridge.
There was no light,
no possibility of light.
You came back and
didn’t say but I saw
your feet puzzled
with sand and I knew
what was left.
First Published in Poetry Scotland70, 2011.