In bed, in the dark
below the dyke I hear
the hum of the river

vessels curve heavily
loaded in the bend
of the slow time

where we never venture, knowing
what happened to that boy
whom nobody knows anymore

where we swim in summer
a few strokes to
and fro in the bay

build lookouts
and are bored
with the creep of

the little waves
the long barges
the slow time

peering
at new cars or other
cargo on deck