If Chick Would've Caught the Train

She was a woman
of her word
always the perfect word.

He was a man,
of his
word,
and sometimes
a delicate word.

She met him once,
by the spaghetti factory
under a full moon
in a white sun dress
in a dream.

He was to meet her in St. Louis
Her picture wearing thin in his pocket.
 "Look For A Red Umbrella."
the letter had said,
and now he thought,
"How curious?"

She wanted
to see him laugh,
and receive
a complicated kiss
in the gateway to the west.

He wanted
to see her breath,
to watch her walk,
to hold her one whole
afternoon in the park.
For this,
he would make wings
or make a plane
to fly over the arch.

She would bare her soul
a thousand miles naked
on her rail
from hell to west,
one last time,
her courage
blessed.



He then could bare to hope,
Whilst she back on the train
a soft look out the window
a blown kiss and a wave.

She would not wonder,
"why there is no faith?"
"why there is no proof?"
Her finger would touch her lip,
Her finger would touch the window,
and the world would make sense.

He then he could really wonder
allow himself to wonder.
about the grass stains
on her tweed jumper
and how much he loved her.

His life
would have never been the same,
if he had only caught the train.