Spalding Grey On The Staten Island Ferry

I sit in the Judith Merrill
reading room reading
Philip K. Dick

but I can't stop
thinking about Spalding Grey
from the East River, identified
from dental records.

I travel
two months back in time
to that Staten Island Ferry
the railing cold
beneath my bare hands.

He seems depressed
but so am I, his sadness
gives me courage.

I do most of the talking.
He nods, smiles and never meets
my eye.
New York City, vast
mysterious, holds his gaze.

I like winter, he says.

The best science fiction always ends
on a sad note.