#MIDDLEBURY
Night Crossing
Ron Slate
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.
About this poem
“At the outset, there was a vague thought – we dream of moving forward but actually we just go back and forth. The mystery of time makes me a little seasick. But a half-thought can sometimes displace more water than a dissertation. Bon voyage!” – Ron Slate
About Ron Slate
Ron Slate is the author of “The Great Wave” (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009). He lives in Milton, Mass.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day@poets.org.
(c) 2016 Ron Slate. Originally published in Poem-a-Day, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
