On a boat, in the night, you might see a light
It might be red, or green, blinking or white.
You can stand by the rail, looking out through the black,
You can feel like a cat, tied up in a sack,
But that one little light will make everything right.

The water will hiss when it's cut by the bow,
The gulls are like ghosts as they sweep past the prow,
On a trawler 100 yards starboard some guy
With a beard gives you half of a wave as you pass
With your arms on the rail and your eyes on the sky.

In the cars all around there are people and sound--
Kids tired and restless, lovers entangled,
Surfers and lawyers and grammas with bangles
And ankle tattoos, it's not an Ark it's a zoo,
And that one little light is what's seeing you through.

At some point the other side comes into view,
Lit by the red and green harbor-mouth markers,
They're winking together and then out of sync,
Like two heartbeats that merge and then drift apart,
As we lie close together, and silently listen,
Eyes shut tight, arms wrapped around a new start.