Governor's Island #2

The river's rolling deep and green through memories like fields of rounded stones, polished by the gentle current. The stones never move, but the river takes their stories and whispers them to the sand, to the whirlpools and the algae, to the lost anchors and the coins that lovers tossed off the ferries when they made wishes. When I stood on the deck of the ferry and looked down I could see my own life down there, spelled out in photos you only look at on cold winter nights when you're all alone.