Gay Head Light

In Memoriam: Todd Follansbee

Nothing gay this gray morning.
The salt-sprayed trees
and bushes bend over
like scared students,
tested by a towering teacher —
all brick, iron and glaring
glass — missing nothing.

We feel her check on us,
then stare far out to sea —
stern but searching
for that last tardy boat
or overdue pilot.
We know that look:
like a hickory stick,
she’ll set them straight.

— Warren Woessner