A Wake Poem by Janelle Farvour

A vessel motors up far away fringe,
northbound in Southeast Alaskan waters like cutting
a ribbon.
The boat moves upwards the chart and slices
apart the water.
The bow
splinters the satin and the water shows back up in the wake as split dark water dug up
in a fluff of harmless white fan.
A calm, even plowing.

How long will the line behind a watchful stern last before it dissipates into Alaska?

How alert will the navigator be when all this has since passed?
How alert will the stern be when all has since passed?