Their fog horns wake us
mid-sleep, as the sound echoes
off the blue waters, that
are deep in memories
and confessions.
We see them pass,
gliding down the river—
ominously for larger waters.
They cut through ice as
temperatures sink, and through
sheens of sunshine as they
warm. All the while,
we don’t forget how deep
the cuts sometimes feel.
Always on the go and
anonymous to onlookers,
vessels a thousand feet long
look soul-crushing and
mind-numbing and, suddenly,
you lose count of how
many you’ve seen.
Pent-Up Aching Rivers 