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Time on Water by Robert Gibbons




Thursday


Because I was late, because I wanted to talk a little longer than usual under the auspices that talk is love, & then with her downstairs & the radio up, instead of simply dressing for work I danced into my clothes. Just a few moves. Ones that exhibit (you wouldn't want to see) more of an old man's duende than anything smooth. I got out of the house with the sun further up in the sky than it has for so long its reflection against the neighbors' flooded through our own front door like a silent gratitude, a grace. Just made the commuter ferry. Found a spot on deck shielded from the high-speed drafts. Patricia was there, & Bill, in their usual spots since they're outside all winter through all weathers. The Martha followed in the ferry's wake all the way out of the inner harbor making me think, with all that light on the water of upcoming ritual events, which celebrate resurrection, at heart, with a joyous mourning. The pilot steered the craft around the outer reaches of Spectacle Island, with a sweep, with such speed, the sea-spray, glint off waves accompanying us, whoosh of wind, everything hurrying toward spring.


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