On the 5:30 ferry from Seattle
Shoving off the end of the world in the dark it’s impossible
to tell exactly who has it worse—the wearied crowd jammed
into the prow, staring out the greasy windows through ourselves
onto an invisible Sound, just waiting for the recorded voice to say
we’ve arrived home again as if by magic, or the dirty shadows
pacing the foredeck back and forth in the wind and salt, pushing into
their particular crossing, taking it full in the face.