museum

standing

welcoming arms
still
outstretched
looking intently
nowhere
bought and paid for
moved and stashed
before our troubles.
You moved
to the island
to your new life
of being,
looking
in a
souls statement.
Do the waves
still whisper
your name
on the salt wind?
Do white-headed
eagles cry 
for you?
Does the bite of salt
miss your ribs
where
dark haired people
netted freely?