I Walk This Bridge Alone

Shrill evening birds shadow the sun 
setting across the water; 
in dreams the ocean 
comes to full river. 
Many times I have climbed this bridge 
wildflowers changing the colour of the water, 
stirring sparks of conversation 
the hoist in the veins 
thrashing a flight to autumn.

I hear your string of broken bird calls, 
loud and wild as years turn it to echo; 
Staggering paleness, 
a daydream of winter’s chill, 
how gutless is fowl flight, 
the comfort of wings. 

Planks wobble, 
set as they are jumbled, uneven. 
Now there’s a blur of impressions, 
the illogical strings in a catalogue of sound. 

Today,
I walk this bridge alone, 
touching air no one else can see, 
one step at a time, 
learning to be ME.

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