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Grappling a rope to twist, to tie - a rune to keep -,

The vessel slams against the pier

Missing in the deep green mist.

Somewhere else the light is red.

There was a storm last night;

Lucky to make it back, the grizzle

Wasn't left behind. There's something

Out there in the blackwater that

Takes and leaves us all blind

Makes blackwater the rind of our eyes.

Some three feet ahead, I know there's

Abernathy on the gangplank and the captain

Phyllis waiting. I step off the boat and note:

Though I see the ground is roiling, gnashing, pulling us in,

(like it never has before)

Though the lighthouse gleams bright this dawn,

Even giving the impression of a glimpse,

The clearing in the fog ends at my fingertips