A Modern Pastoral

At night, unless the moon is particular
About the angle at which it falls,
The ocean disappears; between
The Verrazano cradle
And the dim lights of New Jersey,
There is only a vacancy,
A synapse waiting to be bridged
By a cruise ship, sometimes with fireworks,
Or a freighter. And sometimes
There is the same vacancy by day,
Only then there is no warm dark waiting,
But a cold violet fog.