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.
