Boat Rides

cars through
pools of rainwater
recall to mind, tides
against a dinghy

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A fisherwoman sits upon
the edge of her gondola
steadying her raft.

She anchors her toes on
slippery stones beneath,
sure-footed and wet.

In a floating nest,
she rocks herself home.

Innocence

hiding in the shadow
of a boat bleached
by summer sun

a boy thinks only
of winning his game
of hide-and-seek

dreaming, he finds
a thrilling warmth
in abandoned wood

Row

Pulling his straw hat
An oarsman rows against sun
Lake of green hills

Drifter

The wind sighs lowly
By the sea, a lone tugboat
Calls out in the fog

Fish

Oceans of thought swirl
Beneath an eclipsed moon
The fisherman in his boat
Draws them out, one by one

Sardine Can

The boat tied to the docks has rusted
Green along the wheel where the bronze spokes radiate
Like a defaced relic beneath an overcast sky
The floor planks groan with each toss of the sea
Slate-gray, stripped of color by unceasing wind
Someone’s hands have pried the hatchway loose:
A rank welcome into a sardine can

South Ferry

The lady on the brine we never visit
Her pale green gown rises like a strange tree on the Horizon
The sway of the boat lulls us across the narrow strait
Muddy dark and deep, urban waters
The violent orange of life jackets crouch
Beneath the hard wooden seat against my legs
As I stare out and you sit by, with an arm to ready upon my knee
The ship docks and calls for those to disembark
But we bide our time patiently and I climb down
To lean against your shoulder
As we make our roundtrip home, although we have never left