Lighthouses by Rachel Hyman




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I think about the cold,
about ambling around that place
in my hoodless winter jacket,
drinking an espresso too strong
for my baby teeth.

I think about lighthouses
sending off beacons
of sound and feeling,
my blind apprehension.

I think about standing on thresholds,
between seasons,
chasing transcendence,
glittering slow turning.

I’m still grabbing
at brightnesses,
coming up empty.



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