Mukilteo Ferry

After the long drive north, relentless
the traffic, relentless the heightened news of yet
another alert

after each car, each truck, has clanged
from dock to steel-plated deck and parked, and I get out
to stand at the stern—

light wind, clouds breaking,
and the quaking of tethered engines,
beyond this iron chain the dark water churning—

without warning, the cloak of a great
calm descends upon me, like
the very word

“upon”—the way
it slows the sentence down—
a measured word, hinged—the way

fish, in their inscrutable
expressions, hang
immobile, as though rooted

each to its own place—
and I enter again into the beneficence
of the world of water

whose rhythms will not be hurried
into whose covenant,
under the ancient composure of stars,

we pull anchor and begin to sail.

Copyright © 2005 Ingrid Wendt All rights reserved
from Surgeonfish
WordTech Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission