The
water slaps at the river walk foundations
where
Hoboken kisses Weehawken
the
dark cover water reflecting the line
of
buildings on both sides
Ferries
cut across the river like snakes
slithering
against the rough water
to
plunge deep into the recesses of Manhattan
no
gentle massage,
just
a bump against the dock
spitting
out passengers
in
a rush to pull out again
The
tug boats and barges
do
not rush,
caressing
the waves
with
slow and steady speed
not
cutting across the current
the
way the ferries do,
but
moving up and down it
flowing
into the folds
where
the currents collide
their
glistening stacks
huffing
and puffing
as
they move up and down,
I
stand on the walkway
fingers
clutching to cold wet rail
as
if expecting the next wave
to
suck me in,
wondering
the whole time
if
I am a tug boat or a ferry,
whether
I cut deep into the flesh
of
this great river
or
caress it,
wondering
in the end
whether
I sink or swim.
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