I Half-Remember Passing Through the Bright

I half-remember passing through the bright
             cathedral darkness of a steppe of stars,
the pickup’s shotgun window sharp with night
             against my cheek, strange talk of Potiphar’s

seductive wife on the AM radio…
             My father cracked and spat sunflower shells
with one hand on the wheel, face aglow
             in green dash-light, as if resisting spells.

Another night we found ourselves adrift
             a choppy lake, our motor dead as stone.
I half-remember how he rowed the skiff
             against a blitz of viscous rain, the moan

of headwinds through my skull as I weighed down
             the bow to keep from capsizing. The lake
appeared some pitiless, primeval sound.
             I could not find the shore—could not make

out sky from waves from rain. But I could feel
             our battered boat advancing through the storm
with every paddle-stroke. And Fate revealed
             its grave decrees submissive to our form.