Last Stop
Editor Underground
Chris Williams
i.
The ocean hasn’t stirred
in two months.
We’ve been watching
one another.
You stopped waiting for me
a millenia ago, and I’ve
been here, ever
since. Her voice
echoes cross the water,
dissipating with the mist.
I’ve been trying
to catch death out of
the corner of an eye.
The fragments wash away
like footprints in
the sand.
ii.
A seagull came in today,
over the interminable ocean.
I ask if she saw you,
had any news…
iii.
I wander the empty
halls. Look at
the tapestry.
Was it always empty?
I seem to remember
running feet.
voices
iv.
I call your name.
And listen.
v.
The seasons never
change here.
The greenery is
always the same.
The cyprus trees
neither grow
nor sag.
vi.
I watch the ocean,
and try to remember
your name,
but that’s gone, too,
in this land.
The footprints in
the sand, overflowed
and scattered.
Embarking ships.
I’d like to capture
footprints in the sand,
and bottle them,
for a rainy day, if it
ever rains.