LUCKY

We smoked a joint, before the ferry returned to make its final crossing. I savored the faint glow in her face, every time she urged it to speak. From our portioned hideaway, we could see the children of the moon, dancing upon the watery stage. The only music for miles, was coming from the small radio, she had taken from her canvas bag. It was playing one of those songs, so accustomed to the moment. It accented the mixture of us, and this magical night. They said I was not worthy. They said she would deny me any favor. They need to see me, now.

The wind brushed the hair, from her face; while shaking a leaf from its foundation. It fluttered against her neck, and she was startled by its touch. She thought, she had become a victim of a wayward beetle or playful spider. She seized me out of necessity. But, when I felt her, warm and soft, against my skin. When she wrapped her slender arms tightly, around my shoulders and chest. It was far, too much for my senses. I laughed softly, returning the embrace, as she snuggled her head against my neck. Perhaps, it was the unraveling hallucinations of the hemp, or the spontaneous submission of desire. We responded to the call. Primitive. Natural. Complete.

We strolled to the landing arm in arm. We did not speak about the moment. It flourished in silence. Promises unspoken in the heat of passion, only provided salvation. We were not supposed to be what we had been. We were not supposed to understand. We were not expected to transcend the boundaries set before us. They know their world. I know mine, and you are a part of it. But, they would never know that. The ferry approached with it lamps blazing. And we lit ours to affirm the connection. An old man, getting off, looked at us with various wonder. We spoke to him, and stepped aboard. The pilot made his turn, and began a homeward course. The glow of the lantern revealed the old man still looking. Still wondering, as he put the lantern to rest. From the stern, we could see our beginning and our end, disappearing into the darkened horizon. A young boy stepped out of the pilot house, holding something in his hands. He found a seat not far from us. He did not speak, but gave us a smile free of persecutions. With steady hands, he began to play a mandolin.. His gift to us, was a song.