She’s on the waves, crystal blue, as the sun
awakens behind her, black to velvet to red.
Every morning, before the world begins again,
she’s here on the waves. She says she touches God.
She’s been through hell. She’s spat in the Devil’s eye.
She’s seen the darkness. She’s also held an angel’s hand.
Out on the waves, as the world is still asleep and quiet,
she rides the waves. The peace before the world.
And the world is burning. And I feel a war is coming.
And I let it all get to me. The dark smothers the stars.
Can I be like her? Spit in The Devil’s eye? Hold an angel’s hand?
Because she can still touch God, despite all her pain.
The sky is a crystal blue, like the waves, as she comes ashore.
She smiles at me. We both got to face the world know,
but she has a light I disregard, in hate and in anger.
Maybe I as write these words for her, I can touch God, too.