It is a whispered space
My marble vigil
Where sunlight’s shadows dance
On empty stone cloisters
An angel waits transfixed on a walled garden
And I shift effortlessly into summer
Under a doomed roof
She cries bathed in soft air
What does she see?
Staring from forlorn eyes
Scribbling hands with pure intention
Tears fall on the soft, caramel carpet
For it is time
To depart this whispered space.
Life From A Park Bench 
I always picture an ark as being a place of refuge, but I feel the torment in this particular ark. At the end there is a departure, and I would guess it would be for the better…..to escape.