phil lane




Sifted through the sands
of a thousand pasts,
tried to read these logs,
these maps and coordinates,
all these forgotten harbors,
all these letters that we
wrote keeping me warm
this night, kindling,
this literature of another
lifetime. Lighthousekeeping
is how I designate
this present, sterile as
birth, lonely as death,
in these empty hours
itís easy to admit
that you were right,
in this tempest-blasted
night, itís easy to organize
the clutter of shattered love,
itís no different than
sweeping the floor or
folding the clothes,
no worse than working
above the breaking tides
of some remembered shoreó

Phil Lane's poems have appeared in various magazines over the past five years, including Mother Earth International Journal, Mad Poets Review, and Homestead Review, among others. Additionally, he teaches English and lives in Northern New Jersey.


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take me home