The wind whistles over my bare feet,
I stand there watching, waiting.
The laps of water, tickle my toes.
A little black-eyed blue butterfly,
Flutters in front of my face,
Over my head and is vanished.
Looking over the calm,
Seeing every wave, every movement.
Just not the right one.
Poised, fixed toward the open expanse.
The sun setting, yet see not the movement.
Unbreathly, knowing...hoping to see tonight.
Tonight, will it be?
Tonight, unlike many others?
Will the movement be there?
The notice, the awareness.
Will it be there, at my dock?
Will he be waiting for me?
By dawn?
Will I wait?
Wait for his sails to come in?
Should I go?
Can I go?
Can I see him one last time?