I was roused from among
My quilts and linens

In my narrow –
Though comfortable –

Bed

In my lightkeeper’s house

Near the Lighthouse

On Partridge Island,

By a smell.


The smell of the ocean.
Which I smell every day,

Except – not like this.


This smell was rich,

And solid,

And fresh,

And churned-up.


So I went out

In the early early dawn,

I walked carefully

Along the rock face,

And smelled 
An ocean,

Churning hundreds of miles

From the south,

And knew that

A hurricane

Is on its way.


There are preparations

To be made!

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL