I wrote this in college, on a trip to Point Lookout in St. Mary’s City, Maryland. The lighthouse is on the site of an old confederate prison, and it is said to be one of the most haunted places in America [you can even request haunted campgrounds]. I went with one of my best friends one night out of the blue, and he was so scared of getting too close. The night was very vivid, cold, and we didn’t speak much because it would have spoiled the scene….
Pieces
I picked up a rock
and skipped it,
ripples in a frosted river
and us walking
sand between our toes
under a black velvet sky.
The night dead quiet
and not a soul stirring
except some lighthouse ghosts
and our own two beating hearts
pounding out the rhythm
for the stars
as they danced across the universe
and then tripped,
fell scattered to the ground–
as if God shattered a glass
and we were meant to pick up the pieces
carefully, one by one,
and skip them across the heavens.
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