Lightboat

A.R. Dugan

I’ll hold this place
for you while we
wait out the squall.
I’ll be here
as the waves
become needles
rising over the gunwale
that inject cold
and salt and alone.
I want you warm
while I keep the growing
swells at bay. I’ll wait
for some wandering bark
to pass by and listen
for news of you, for I have
lost the use of my eyes.
I burn dimly through
mist and hold the ocean
floor with huge arms
anchored by long fingers.
A hermit crab has taken
up residence in the scar
near my elbow from ages
ago when I could still
bend it. Do you notice
as you pass? Do you see
these arms when you dive
down? Do you know
where I am when
the sun returns?