Watch the legs of pedestrians walking up

the ramp of the Vineyard ferry —

named the Martha's Vineyard —

some walking bikes, some

walking dogs, some walking boyfriends,

until we and our car are drawn

into the belly of the whale

by Authority seamen

directing the turn of your wheel

with no judgment just serenity

and suntan.

Exiting our car, we squeeze

between rearview mirrors of

BMWs and FedEx trucks,

and clamber with the dog on lead

up a metal staircase to the main deck,

then the front outer deck facing east,

a kidney-shaped display of connecting

deck chairs. Hurrying, we obtain four seats together

(one for the dog, one for space).

Then away we go, by ourselves

each of us,

She at the rail, looking perhaps

at the lighthouse or beyond,

me under the sun, the dog beside,

listening to the Sound,

its glittery splash and sway.