Virginia’s Lighthouse

Devon Balwit

after Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse

flashes upon that in me
which also squares off
against our pitiless adversary 

that claims we haven’t done enough
and stares down our happiness,
calling its bluff. 

This is your opus?
it mocks.
I shift, like Sisyphus 

beneath the great rock
of self-conceit
and take stock: 

marriage, children, publications (albeit
in lesser journals),
a new job (no small feat 

at my age). Death bares
its carnivorous dentition
at me, and I shiver. 

It knows it’s won,
that even if I glimpse eternity,
I’ve no way back to Eden.

The lighthouse pierces the darkness,
but the swells are patient and voracious.

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Devon Balwit
When not making art, Devon Balwit walks in all weather and edits for Works in Progress magazine. For more, visit pelapdx.wixsite.com/devonbalwitpoet