I’m sure this happened: we were on a ferry,
walking the deck among parked cars
as we crossed a wide river gleaming in summer sun
under a tall, deep blue sky; the boat pushing against water,
a warm breeze wisping our shoulder-length hair.

Among the parked cars was a black Cadillac,
windows closed, engine idling. Sitting alone inside,
an old man playing guitar. Thinking he might be famous,
I wanted to rap on the window; you, with a low
chuckle and gentle tug on my arm, held me back.

I’m sure this happened: I can still feel the thrum
of the boat’s engines, the prow thumping wavetops;
still smell the diesel exhaust, feel your touch
on my arm, saving me from myself; still see
that sky—so deep a blue you could see outer space.

I’m sure this happened: but I can never remember
what river we were crossing or where we were going.
I wake to ask you Was this real? and then remember
you’re dead  damn you