by Lucia De Luca
He pulled the cable towards his body
as if trying to be in control of his destiny.
That night the wind was stubborn.
He continued to tighten the sail,
still, the wind took its own course.
He was lucky.
The wind was stubborn but not cruel;
it kept him within the bounds
created by the luminosity of the lighthouse.
He’d be safe for some time.
He was confident that come morning
he’d be able to dock his boat
though he wasn’t sure
it would be at his usual harbour.
The lighthouse beams came and went
as if playing hide-and-seek.
His heart rose and fell
with the waves.
He braced himself against the cold water;
he inhaled and exhaled, keeping rhythm.
He’d coped with this method before.
He slept unwillingly and was awakened
by sun seeping through his eyelids.
The light he knew well was long gone.
The water was warm now but he shuddered
at how easily it comforted him.
He missed the light, even the cold.
He spotted a harbour.
He was lost and found.
He had no choice but to anchor.