The blast on the ship’s horn
was like the call of a lone
coyote howling on the prairie.
To the cadence of a ticking clock,
the turning light on the
point-beacon tower was an
eye, casting glances this way
and that. The waves breaking
off the point were applause for
a third act at the downtown theater;
and somewhere in the fog, you
had my heart. I will stumble to
the pier’s end tonight like all the
other nights and my soul will call
into the mist. You will not come,
but I will, tomorrow and the
tomorrow after that, like the aged
actor who can play but one part.

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