Still Time
by Joan Luther

Through the cracked window
His hand tilted his hat,
A gentleman’s gesture
The lift of his ebony eye.

His beard and his hair covered
More than his memories
As the story around his eyes
Gave away secrets of his past.

His hands disclosed stories
Of ships coming to port
And waiting for her message,
Anything, even a note.

Long ago, they were children,
Then grew into husband and wife.
Together or apart, stronger were they
Until that fateful, rainy night.

The window where I sat
Collected a raindrop or two
As his hand went to his eyes
Sheltering them from my view.

Scarlet and gold sashayed
Along the dampened pier
Then his head turned.
His lip gave a quiver.

As if time had stood still
For many rainy years,
Their fingers entwined,
There’s still time, said their eyes.


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