When
I was five years old
my grandfather
took me to
a pond
probably in New Jersey
but who really knows where
lost back there.
The sun was setting
the light was golden
with god rays
floating through the trees and clouds
reflected
in the water.
The fish were surfacing rising
jumping here and there.
Innocence peace perfection.

I was in awe of life
and
to young to know
what this moment would become.

The beacon
the lighthouse
on the edge
calling me
showing me
the way home.

As exaggeration
has set in
with aging and pain
the moment became
the symbol
in my dreams
trying to make it back
to that
New Jersey pond
and
depending on
the state of my life and mind
in my dreams
I
would see it over there
sometimes
hanging in the air
in distorted images
of
cold wicked docks
sitting on
dry desert lands.

No water
no grandfather
no peace
alone
in exposed
and vulnerable landscapes
and
sometimes the water
was just over there
But
I was lost
in rooms which had no doors
and eyes that had no windows.

Standing on an island
surrounded by water
but
no setting sun
no rising fish
no grandfather to hold me up
on that island
spinning.

The beacon calls
I have always been moving
towards
that
perfect moment
with the sun setting
the fish rising
my grandfather holding my hand
a piece of peace
forever the end of my path.