The train rocks and shimmies and shakes,
and it almost lulls me to sleep, half awake,
like an infant in her mother’s arms.
The brown townhouses, the little yards,
lights on in second story windows, life,
like tableaux for my god like eyes.
I am not godlike.
The Atlantic, I imagine cold, gunmetal gray,
and deep and as empty as the sky above it,
which will, perversely, be blue and bright.
Blue, my favorite color.
I sit on the beach, the Atlantic Blue, eternal,
and not a cloud in the sky, I drink iced tea.
I finish it, go under, lost like a drop in infinity.
Cold water doesn’t feel.