Maybe not ALL the time.
But SOME of the time.
That I will never live in a lighthouse for a year
or even a month
Spending my days staring out to sea
Scribbling poetry in tattered, stained notebooks
Ignoring reality in my search for something real
Something tangible, eternal
Something I can hold onto and believe in.
Then I wonder – why not?
There are lighthouses
And here I am
(or more correctly, here is me)
How hard could it be to put the two of us together
(Three would not be a crowd if the third was he)
We’d bring a boatload of supplies
food and water and blankets and pencils and pieces of paper
(I’m pretty sure there’d be no internet or regular electricity)
and hats and sublock
and a month-long supply of the various tablets that keep us alive
and pictures of the children and the cats
(who will give us the coldest of shoulders when we return)
(the cats and not the children, though they may expect some duty free)
It’s just not simple.
Even if I want it to be.
Even if we’ve paid our dues and cleared our debts and have no obligations.
You can’t run off to sea
You just can’t.
It’s not allowed.
Of course… I’ve broken a rule or two in my time…