To the Lighthouse, Miranda O’Sullivan

Shoots of tall wild grass that hover above us

With sand melting off our heels, and here

The wind’s stronger and colder at dusk.

The sun is soup, mixed with clouds and a mess.

Waves lapping silently on the edge of the pier

Among shoots of tall wild grass that hover above us.

Chill burrows under our skin, just enough

To freeze our bodies and our bones and our fear

When the wind’s stronger and colder at dusk

The sun may be lower, and with a fuss

We turn back, faint footsteps echoing in our ear

From behind shoots of tall wild grass that hover above us

We sped over old rotting bridges made of dust,

Rickety wooden planks squealing out clear

Over the wind that’s stronger and colder at dusk

With a scream that rattled the truss,

The footfalls are coming near,

Behind shoots of tall wild grass that hover above us

When the wind’s stronger and colder at dusk