Poem: The Ferry by John Predmore, S.J.

Knees wobbled and weak,
at the rim of the world.
for the journey ahead.
From its southern tip,
the ferry pulls away,
in blue-green waters,
my legs like taffy,
on a trip of immensity,
where little is contained.
We bobble and float,
the soothing wave of nothingness
with closed eyes,
yet I fear sleep,
for if I do,
I may be gone,
and who would know?
You’ve no control.
Your destiny can’t be shaped.
The raft will carry you,
or it may sink.
Will I reach out to cling to its beams?
Endless bouncing,
deep into the gut,
undetectable at times,
past the safe confines
and into the open horizons
where no birds glide
or fish jump.
Ankles weak and stomach aquiver,
tosses out the question,
Which is greater?
the hovering sky,
the arched sea,
or those distant peaks
of snow and ice
that rip open in defiance
the placid surface
and calls out, “I dare you.”
I am weak and finite.
I can’t contend.
It bends my mind,
so my lids I close
and float
and wonder
where it goes.