On The Ferry

I peer over the aged wooden bow
and press my ear 'gainst its sealed oaken mouth;
speak to me
dear one
you saw him last
perhaps right here
also
eyes turned downward
at the churning foam
of dark New York water
as cold and remote as it people
(treading forward
relentlessly
only to to turn right around
back and forth)
endless monotony
like his life must have seemed,
racked with pain
heartbroken
from hurts long ago
that no present lover
or family
kin nor kith
with
arms open wide
smiles of pleasure
at your presence
your wit
your self-deprecation
a gift to us all
could calm.

We sat in a cab together
once upon a time
my queries questioned
your smile a mirror
a told tall tale of the Group
and its leader
the lines between the theater and life.
The audition you took me to went well
anxiety anticipated:
you got the part.
I saw the movie
silly
but still
work
life
art
all rolled up
in a nice pay check
and the knowledge of a job well done
that you would be seen
acknowledged
heard
yet never understood.

You laid your life bare
on stage
at that table
with a glass of water
and a belly full of nerves and notes.
I sat stunned
in awe
laughing crying
taking your hand
on your journey through the jungle
of life
art
plays
love
the ache
the ache
so deep
dark and dreadful
like the disease,
unnamed.

I can hear it now,
in the deep white wake
of the JFK,
the call of a Brooklyn Lorelei
a sensuous siren
irresistible
to the man
with open ears
and broken heart
hip
head
plug in your ear phones
so their deadly alluring song
does not suck you down
to a watery demise
like yours
dearest Spud
my friend
my mentor
my muse.