Where the lighthouse once stood ground
I stood and imagined the punch of bow to stern
as some proud schooner hop-scotched home
from two dozen days on the water,
finally sneaking over the tormenting reefs,
reefs still smarting from the beacon's honest diligence,
still lying-in-wait for the brazen or the storm driven captain.
I stood only in the shadow of the lighthouse,
heard only the echo of the pitched point and counterpoint
between near and far, comfort and danger, land and sea,
and I touched only the broken remnants of the watchtower;
but I saw the play of the tide against the shore,
and I felt the crisis and the dignity of homecoming.
Brian Buckley graduated from Dartmouth in 1976, then from William and Mary Law School in 1979. He practiced law for a while. The last thing he did was teach first grade. He's not sure what he'll do next, but right now he's writing full time. An essay he wrote will be published in the Nov. issue of Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal. Some of his poems were also published as an op-ed piece by the Los Angeles Times in 2003.