It has been sunrise all day--
I watched the sun lift over the
islands this morning, the day after
solstice. The clouds have something
to do with it, the way the sun
brightens them like gauze in a lamp.
I took the ferry out, and watched
docks and boats glow through lit fog,
then pass silently, hulks of angels.
The ferry is empty, save the small
group with Southern accents and
the woman nosed in her book.
It feels winter, when all are home
and Christmased, when the croak
of ravens echoes against firs
and spring is forgotten.
So I sit and listen to the fan above
me pushing heat into the boat
and close my fingers around my
thumb. As the ferry pulls away
from the dock, my soul stretches,
then strings like fishing line between
the land and water.
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