a golden shovel

after Kemi Alabi, for the other Alice

 

Listen, before I drift, would

you gentle me toward the shore, you

 

my lighthouse     my beacon     call

out to me with your sea-tinged breath, take this

 

raft of bells, skirt this low rumble of violence

carry me within this puling storm or

maybe    this moment is just a bit of     weather?

 

Lighthouse, listen, I

haven’t always heeded your warnings: don’t

 

careful            watch           believe

 

I want to believe your

light will guide me around the bite

 

& sting of this new in-between place, now that what’s left is

a glimmer of guiltless

 

within my tidal remorse, but     as

I’m shepherded closer to the shore; please, deliver me, the

tempest, gently wrapped in a box of rain