From May 9, 1978 Journal
On the Staten Island Ferry
The first time
I’ve left Manhattan
Since Boston.
I can’t see anything of Manhattan.
The fog follows the ferry’s wake.
The harbor air
The gray sea dark as the gray air.
The world a maze of opaque sameness.
The ferry approaches St. George.
The passengers disembark into the terminal
Return to Manhattan on the same ferry.
A ship’s horn sounds our departure.
Engines throbbed with power
The hull pressed againt wooden buffers.
Seconds late the dock enveloped by gray.
Fifteen seconds later we are lost in it.
Not forever
Just till Battery Park.