I have
A train ticket
To the sea.

I have no relatives left to visit,
No business to justify my stay,
Nothing except
A sense of abandonment in me.

I have
Some loose change
And a candy wrapper
In my pocket.

I have no place to stay,
No place for dining;
The seaport has nothing besides
An old lighthouse,
Rusted and forgotten.

I hold its keys in my hand
And unlock the creaking door,
Climb the spiral staircase to the top
In a sort of restless agony.

We are one and the same,
Too close to the crashing waves of reality
Yet still with the silence of disregard,
Gathering dust and cobwebs
And echoes of human warmth.

We both sit,
Quietly looking out into the frothy churning of a violent ocean,
Salt spray crusting on my fingernails,
Its railings squeaking under the turbulence of the grey air.

I feel less alone
In the presence of loneliness;
We are one and the same, like I said.

So we sit
And we wait
For the tide to come in
And my love to come home.