Sometimes, insights come through straightforward experiences. This poem voiced itself as I headed up the lighthouse tower in Bill Baggs State Park at the tip of Key Biscayne, Florida. Some of my fellow climbers–a curious crew of kids and couples, old-timers and polyglots–may have wondered why I was pecking away at my phone keyboard on a mid-tower stair landing, but there you have it. The park ranger at the base of the tower enjoyed the poem. Here’s hoping you do as well!
Lighthouse It takes a bit of dizzy-making to reach the top of the lighthouse. The heart quickens and the stomach grips as land fades further and further below. Cast iron steps Circle fast around and up the center column; Brick walls echo footfalls that close tighter and tighter as the tower thins (or is that the air?) up, up until —whoosh!— the view opens wide: sea for miles, sandy edges stretching to cityscapes, all the realms laid out for a watchman’s eyes. This is the work we do, enduring the discomfort of gravity’s weight, daring to climb past the familiarity of earth’s tether, lighting a storm-tested lamp to lead others from dangerous shoals.