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The Ferry’s Spirit

We’ve trudged through many travels.
Long, lonely highways lined with steep medians and shady trees,
Flattened fields of leveled land where puddles soak farmer’s sowed seeds.
Deeper into Virginia’s dismal swamps
Cyprus trees ankle deep in rising black waters.
A littered, desolate roadside with
corrupt remnants of earthly scenery.

Finally arriving at our destination after contradicting directions,
unsure turns, and God knows how many signs we ignored.
Some doubt the ferry’s coming as we sit
trapped at the end of this weak bridge,
the aged old wood creaking, ready to collapse.
Sea gulls hover above, wings spread like
angels watching our grounded halt.
The sea swelling and hissing beneath us like
monsters constantly chewing at our supports,
Wanting more to consume in their muddy currents.
And we sit idly behind fogged window, waiting
Our ferry’s arrival

Across the James River, a mystic mist prevails over all things seen.
Through this white air, our ferry appears,
Silently like a spirit. Porting with the steady power
And promise of a savior.
Although it came unseen it floats solidly before us,
Waiting to carry our weight and those with us,
Our only means to the far shore.

We ascend the ramp in faith,
Trusting its buoyancy to hold us,
Keep us from drowning in the sea below.
The ferry energy like nothing felt before
Moving us when we thought we were still.
Awed by this assuring power,
I briefly step from my steel shell,
Letting the sparkling air revitalize
The deepest portions of my dead chest.

March 13, 1989