Ferryman

Beneath the foam the blades

cut seaward, and constellations

sparkle in a hair-spray mist 

between the mare's tail wake

and mirrored cirrus skies.

Bare feet raised to breeze

upon the rails, he sees anew 

old ankles blotched and bloated; 

epiphanies passed in a daily shave’s

myopic view of jowls and wrinkles, 

masked in faces pulled 

beneath the foam and blade...

he looks away

to nod goodbye to Samos

and the horse, high on stilts,

pretending to be cloud