lost at sea …

I am the attendant

in a sea of fog,

casting light into the vast unknown,

waiting for the one

who may never arrive.

Most days, I remain at my post,

a quiet sentinel of hope —

tending the flame,

hoping it will be seen.

And once in a while,

they do come.

A flicker on the horizon,

a shape taking form —

not to stay,

but to rest.

A pit stop,

nothing more.

Then they vanish,

like breath on glass,

and in their place

come the pauses —

longer, heavier,

until silence takes root.

And I sit,

staring into the stillness,

asking the question

that always returns unanswered:

What happened?

I thought we were close.

But it seems I mistook

a passing ship

for an anchor.