so this is the bridge
i crossed it once long ago
strange it is still here
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spilled wine and ashes
from last nights soaring display
the cleaning crew comes
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sparkling twilight
on gently rippled water
a lone seabird calls
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firey reflections
glow from tired empty windows
the source is unknown
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lost in faded light
and dappled shadow she waits
for another day
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a gate left open
and the path leads to a strange
and forgotten place
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slowly turn the page
of an unwritten chapter
in a silent book
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this construct of dreams
is a lovely place to dwell
i’m OK with that
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a pale evening dusk
covers the day’s ragged edge
the shadows grow long
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there might be treasures
in the piles of hoarded stuff
but i did not ask
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