I Dream One Day To Visit The Lighthouse

I dream one day to visit the lighthouse
Up on that hill. Do you see it? That’s my childhood.
It isn’t far at all. You know, I’d just skidder right up
Those alabaster dunes, right on up to ol’ Mr. Hopper’s door,
And sneak a quick visit to his little cozy abode.
Oh, he’d let me in, and with such hospitality!
From here you couldn’t tell, but that place is a shrine.
No, there’s no incense burning or waters to scald demons,
No, therein lies an altar to naïveté and simplicity,
To things overlooked; things pushed aside. I would be
Baptized in breast milk, born anew with eyes fresh and
Indiscriminating. Oh, how I would want to see the ocean
And it to see me! I’d climb that nautilus-staired tower
To greet the cerulean dreamscape lain out before me.
As I would stand in slack-jawed awe, I’d feel it. I’d feel it as blue
Became my only color. I would feel it as I saw the foam, and
The bubbles rise up above my stinging body. I would feel it
As it escaped me. But I’ll never get the chance. I mean, if I
Weren’t here, who’d get all this work done down here
Knocking over all these cherubic sandcastles?