Xena

At the gangway she takes a right, away from drinkers and vagrants, her youngest suffers that plight, there's a Chapel alone, behind where the cruise ships lay, she heads towards it like Rome, her mind racing and alight, to reach that cool oasis, away from the tourist cries, she eyes their pressed clothes, they dance like wraiths, beneath the sun, in the gloam, stilled by her troubled mind, she avoids their laughing landscapes, constant dreams of golden skies, arrived she waits a moment, feels the Stone’s sweet glaze, scented candles at her shoulder, fires the ancient flame.