There is a man in a suit just down the hall, next to the table, through the far wall.  Over the highway, in the slow-moving stream, under the skyway and out on the beam.  He's near to the sun now, and far from the ground, holding a candle that's all but burned out.  He stands and he waits for a girl he once knew who took a handful of pills, all yellow and blue.  She's nowhere near coming and still she just passed, she's wearing a dress standing left of the mass.  He looks at the churches and happy ones there.  She stares at the ceiling without such a care.  She's spinning in circles and rising so high.  He waits for the girl and keeps thinking why.  He'll wait for a year and a decade or two, yes he'll wait for the girl he once thought he knew.