Lighthouse of the Blind

by

Arturo Vasquez

An old note appears
Partially veiled by the waves;
A sinking city rises again,
Old fingers pecking at a piano-
Swiftly they race against
The barking of dogs
And distant night traffic.

See, only open your heart,
And do not close those eyelids
So sealed by time
And turning away.

See and open, and maybe
You too will be tied
To that swaying masthead:
Ten year old siren hymns
Filling evening's
Sorrowful hallway.

Beckoning behind stone walls,
That bride of bulbs so brilliant
That shimmers in the country dark.

A ray strikes her face:
Is she seen or
Merely caressed
With a white stick
Of flourescent air?

Is it too much music
For the night?
Or can it all be heard
Without neglect or indifference?

A calm lake of
Lapping songs,
Stars that do not see
But are swallowed by
Weary eyes.

Perhaps she saw it outside
But now she is going in.
She closes the door on the mist
Lying serenely on the grass.

-Hollister, CA
September 4th, 2003