Mile of Shoes

  I am the lord of light, and that which is an abomination unto me is death

  Of course I had to return—

  we all knew the mile of shoes

  runs long. Millions of lives

  tend to add up to eternal

  numbers and figures

  I don’t have the patience

  to work out

  alone.

  Kind of like when ships

  leave the wooden bones

  of home and harbor

  to cross the odyssey

  of salt and tears

  and vast wild sea.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Every vessel needs

  an anchor.

  It might as well

  be me. Or the

  blare of a house

  of flaring light,

  carved into stone as

  though inviting

  the wicked taunts

  of

  waves,

  immovable on the living

  land. Funny, I thought I

  was the only one who

  lived here on the diamond

  of green-blue, Earth

  suspended in such

  glorious blackness.

  Ships, sea, lighthouses—

  rolling metaphors all

  humbly demanding

  my return. End

  of the road.

  We need you back.

  We ache for the light.

  Thank you for returning.

  I thought for sure you were gone.

  Was he with you? She?

  Is there a God? Could he care

  about someone like me?

  Life really is a miraculous

  skip over the pond, isn’t it?