A Coin for the Ferryman

A Coin for the Ferryman 

I think it is the end

but it opens.

I think it is my own blood

but it is a river of light.

I think it is a bird

but it is a boat.

I think it is a shadow

but it is the ferryman. 

When I come to the landing

I explain that I left swiftly, without warning,

and did not bring a coin.

He says he will accept a poem.

So I stand at the bow

as the boat pulls away

and speak the truest words I know.

They might be drops of river spray;

they might be tears he wipes away.

 My thanks to the editors of Tales for the Talisman, where this poem originally appeared.