Last of the Ascension (Verse) - 13
The Pelican
The Pelican approached—
weathered, but standing.
Wood worn by years—
not diminished by them.
A bird carved in motion—
forever above the wave.
Arrival—
or something close enough.
He pulled the mala free—
as if to remember why.
“Those are ancient.”
“Yes.”
Older than this place—
older than the names it had worn.
They had seen—
what he could not undo.
He felt their weight—
more clearly now.
Mortality flickered beside him—
easy, temporary, whole.
He envied it—
for the first time without resistance.
He opened the door—
pause before departure.
“It’s been real.”
Words—
too small for what he meant.
“Thanks for the lift.”
“For sure.”
Simple—
the way he could never be.
He stepped out—
and something settled.
Not peace—
something adjacent.
Beck drove on—
toward a life that continued.
Two fingers raised—
peace, given freely.
Sofran watched—
longer than necessary.
Longing moved through him—
like tide.
Then—
he turned.
The Pelican waited—
unchanged by his hesitation.
Coffee drifted outward—
comfort disguising threshold.
She would be there.
Not memory.
Not maybe.
This time—
it would not be a game.
He moved toward it—
uncertain, but committed.
Hope and dread—
no longer separate.
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