Waves crash—

Saltwater drenches west
ward face of dying light
house, rusted iron cage,
just like in that movie—

A safe harbor?
Or a bleak omen?

I, alone inside and folded in
ward upon myself, wait…
for what?

A safe harbor or
a bleak omen?

It gets dark early this
far north, you know,
this time of year—

Bleak omen,
safe harbor?

What do they want from me,
here and now,
what are they looking for?

Safe harbor?

Here and now,
alone and inward,
folded into
quiet, quiet, quiet
cocooned shadows,
I wonder,
again,
as wrought
iron window frames
clatter—