Wet Light


After five days of autumn rain
and early nights

the wind-rippled surface
of this empty street

glimmering as clouds part
for a moment

has become the wake
of a ferry

I remember from childhood
the shimmer

of wet light on the deck
as we crossed

the river toward home
my father

with his arm holding
me still

and dwindling into the dark
distance another

ferry with its wake now
meeting ours.