It was not him she left on the cold November night,

Heading anywhere the westbound train would take her

With a cheap ticket that promised nothing more than a
Single night of solitude in the lulling cabin with its scratchy
Wool blankets that lacked pillows. It was not him she left,
It was the Atlantic.

His thoughts never focused on her completely,

Only her silhouette appealed to him in the dark of the night
As she lay beside him, asleep and dreaming of the day when the
Strawberry jam jar of coins hidden in her closet would fill with
Treasure that promised a westbound ticket. In the meantime, she waited and
Waited for him to notice the deep Atlantic blue of her eyes.

He never did. So at midnight in the city, the white taxi cab

Left her at the train station and at midnight in the city she
Left her heart with the Atlantic Ocean as the black train pulled slowly
Away from the sleeping city and the home she could never make there
Because he could never understand the wanderlust in her eyes,
Shimmering blue and sometimes green like the Atlantic at noon.

The most trusting companion, the Atlantic was the only

Keeper of her heart, her most beloved possession. The only
One that would not abandon her; even the moon disappeared for
Nights at a time and the West Wind doesn’t kiss every landscape on
Earth. The Atlantic promised whispering lullabies in the navy cloak
Of the night and its tides always came back in the same way they left.

The reverberating solitude of the tiny cabin soothed her soul on the train,
Her savior in the cold night, delivering her from the evils of the
Abandonment and instability he promised her. Her shepherd through
Black pastures only lit by the stars, the westbound train slowed to a
Delicate stop in the dawn of a December morning as she breathed serenely,
Beginning again miles from his city and her heart in the Atlantic.