VOYAGE

Just when they cast the hawsers from the pier

I cannot say, when what held tight

was loosened. I can’t recall

the mist against my cheeks,

on my tongue the salt of sea air,

what shape the fogbank.

I can’t recall how wide the pass

between two islands, or whether

they were green or dark.

Nor even if the foam arcing from the bow

rose or fell in color.

Life drifts with memory

as if standing at the stern rail

faintly lost. Who remembers

how you looked, leaning out,

gazing down at the white tumult

as if at the wake of days

abandoned, impossible to count.