Back and forth is a way to move when the visible is spacious. But what’s the state of the last boat, lightly loaded and unprofitable? Tied up at the mainland dock, the ferry shudders in its berth, its captain consults a tide chart and grunts. A new, possessive moon. Late departure, a rigid beam of light probes the sea lane for what violates or drifts. The other shore, not far off, can leap and hurt the hand pointing at it. In the dark alongside—wings seen, instantly gone, a half-thought interrupted by a heave. Then the ferry turns hard a-port to the channel, the parting waters make the sound of a god murmuring for both the first and last time. At mid-crossing, something is lacking twice over— in this location, in the mechanism or vision of the crossing? Two ports, both accommodating, but unmoved by what goes on between. How many departures does a person need, how many starts can be tolerated? A necessary collision at the pilings tells everyone it’s over. Copyright © 2016 Ron Slate. Used with permission of the author. |
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