When I looked across the river
to where we are sitting talking
quietly in the high white room
through the late winter afternoon
old friends found after a long time

what I saw from that end of time
was only the light reflected
on all the buildings facing west
the Metropolitan Tower
white and the brick cliffs glittering
high beyond the green ferry barns
and untouched day where we are now

the ferry barns have disappeared
and ferries passing back and forth
on the loom of fine river light
while we have pursued a notion
that we were learning as we turned

among the galaxies learning
we called it as we recognized
someplace we were and the known light
sometimes voices of friends again
but not ourselves the dark of space
not ourselves yet the farthest light