Ferried

A violent thought drives
him to grab
the nearest railing
so he won’t spill

himself onto the deck.
The calm water
is a song
he wrote before he knew

how to speak
to women with mouths

like hers. White knuckles
and wet wrists, he remembers
now. Oh, that’s right.

Water Elixir

Night collapses
into day—the ferry
is free. A frame 

for this lake
sky after a May frost
would cost more 

than all the gold
in a guardian angel’s halo,
could not capture 

the moment I choose
to turn fully around.