darling, in all your religious stillness, did you miss your stop?
do you have a destination? dusty callused hands show your travels well.
slumped over like a crumpled puppet, dark red hair limply hangs over the rail
a stale late stratus sunset.
your silver shoulders, the highest point in a sloping arch
shine, a summer moon, shiver then are still.
sweetheart, the day is too cold for your waves of aqua chiffon,
pleated and needing the sway of walks way.
but your endless skirt sea ripples with only wind, then is still
i won't see your face, and i never will, but i know its benevolence and innocence,
pure and spanning centuries of waxes and wanes, timeless patience of saints.
and like me, you will get off your stop, stream, but too soon return to the big blue oblivion, silent and loving, needing, being all.
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