Beaming out, no bushel to hide under here, the naked bulb streaming your light into the darkness of tumbling waves and crashing blackness. Breakers splashing caught in the brightness for an instant, like onyx or flint, cracked and crenelated edges gleaming. And so alone, lone you stand, and sometimes do you wonder if the pay is worth it? And you close your eyes and remember the saturating, drowning hubbub of the city, and realise it is you who has been saved, sat tight in your ivory tower, hoping fervently no shipwrecked prince will come to rescue you.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from morguefile.com