The Poetry Well is a monthly column that showcases island poetry. This month includes a poem by Eric Horsting.

Opening Nights

Something must then begin, they say, gestures

perhaps; the imperative’s all, the sure walk

through the false door on cue, the stark memory

of the words no one else can speak only

you can repeat, to perfection, they say,

loving you for it. And after it’s done

again, you flick the collar of your cloak

up against the cold and dark and you walk

down the cobbled streets of the ancient port

standing for a time on the dock, staring

at the stars like no others, as they seem

to you then; and you observe one fall,

as happens, and decide once again, as you

have before, that the event means no more

than it is, light streaming suddenly down,

and this decision comforts you again,

so that you end your evening tracing

the streets to home, its rue, its familiar door.

Eric Horsting, former arts editor of The Beachcomber, has been writing and publishing poems for about 30 years.

Now retired, Horsting taught creative writing — including poetry — at Antioch College for over three decades, as well as at Vashon Center for the Arts for seven years.

He and island poets Hunter Davis and Ina Whitlock meet once a month to discuss their current work.