Standing on the deck of the night ferry
From La Paz to Mazatlan.
A clear sunset; we’re headed southeast.
The sky goes from light blue to purple
And it holds that color for what seems
Like forever. Stars begin to pop out
Of the darkness one at a time and then
They take over the sky, setting the stage
For a small crescent, a sliver of silver
Lying on its back.
An old Mexican comes and stands
Next to me on the rail.
We look at the miracle in silence.
A cup made of light in a near-dark sky,
Just hanging in silence,
Looking more painted than real.
“When the horns of the moon point up,
It can’t rain,” he said.
Paul Boyer
Durango
