Jason Ranek

A chuff of gray smoke. Diesel engines groaning
as the ferry leaves the dock, its lower decks
loaded with cars. The morning could be

a postcard: clear skies, calm seas, green hills
on the horizon. Sun climbing higher into its own
blind perfection. The lazy drift of birds.

Rumbling softly, the boat finds its pace,
gliding over the waves like an idea watered
with spirits. There is nothing to change or know.

My mind wanders as the minutes pass, air
sliding cooly over my skin. The boat fades into
a half-dream. The water goes on forever.