Cyclopsed

In trying to reach the other side
of whatever separates us—blue expanse
or two fingertips inches from bridging
I have become as much an anchorless boat
rowed too near the horizon
as some great vessel moored a lifetime in the shallows.

If I could speak what is missing by silence alone
I would have already uncorrupted the distance.
I would have curved a trajectory
steady as the moon’s
and moved through eternity
certain as sunken stone.

But there is only one lighthouse
for these thousand inconstant shores
and to be nearing the light’s eye—
even if it harbors you—
only means I’ve travelled farther
from discovering myself.

John Sibley Williams HeadshotJohn Sibley Williams is the author of eight collections, most recently Controlled Hallucinations (FutureCycle Press, 2013). He is the winner of the HEART Poetry Award, and finalist for the Pushcart, Rumi, and The Pinch Poetry Prizes. John serves as editor of The Inflectionist Review, co-director of the Walt Whitman 150 project, and Board Member of the Friends of William Stafford. A few previous publishing credits include: Third Coast, Nimrod International Journal, Inkwell, Cider Press Review, Bryant Literary Review, Cream City Review, RHINO, and various anthologies. He lives in Portland, Oregon.