Video made for a project about poetry.
Image: Olga Mink
Lighthouse (M.H. Benders)
I am a drifting man.
The perforated street, stitched
with the wringing sound of doves
draws my sihouette on the sidewalk.
I don’t know where I am, memory
fails me. I can’t seem to open my eyes.
The sounds censor me. Behind the veil
of my eyelids I see a scripted fleet
of flashlights, like hostile ships
looking for a harbour, touching
me with fingertips that glow
like scanning prayers.
Someone touches my chest, eyes.
I hear a muffled cry.
‘Where do you live’ a woman says,
I try to lift my hand and point.
‘I live in the lighthouse’ I mumble.
They carry me away
into a brooding, unsearchable dark.
In the last sweep of the tower
the light crosses my eyes
and I see myself
as the sea, waving endlessly
in her arms, while she stands aloof,
holds me, cradles me, shoots me up
the unborn void of the sick farm.
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