How that bike trail
leads us into the lake
along a skinny jetty,
until we are small,
obsidian specks
to someone back on shore,
almost all the way
to an island.
And then there is a way
to ride on water,
not walk the way Jesus did.
Not glide over
on some tightrope,
the way crazy, brave people
move from building top
to building top
or across canyons. No.
There is a small ferry.
Not the kind with wings,
but the one with a soft,
puttering motor
to take us beyond
what we know.
Click here to read Sarah Dickenson Snyder on the origin of the poem.
Image: photo by KBO Bike on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
Sarah Dickenson Snyder carves in stone & rides her bike. Travel opens her eyes. She has four poetry collections, The Human Contract (2017), Notes from a Nomad (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2018), With a Polaroid Camera (2019), and Now These Three Remain (nominated for the Massachusetts Book Awards 2023). Poems have been nominated for Best of Net and Pushcart Prizes. Work is in Rattle, Verse Daily, and RHINO. sarahdickensonsnyder.com
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