Dreamt the river was running backwards

The ferry's headed upriver but every buoy I know is sliding past stern-first, and the passengers are all people I've carried before — only they're younger, the versions of themselves from ten years ago. I keep telling them we're late, and one of them just says, 'You're early, Captain.' Then the fog closes in and I can hear the bell on the old bridge ringing, except there's no bridge there anymore. Just that bell, patient as a clock nobody winds.