Top of the Bridge
I climb onto the bridge’s railing,
toss your name into the wind
but it revisits me like the swallow.
I think I have captured you but
then you shift away like the fog
underneath the bridge.
The mist net will not catch you.
I watch you float down the river.
I think I am done with your memory.
But I am not. Grayness mists
around me. I shiver in the dampness.
I will forever be cold.
Poetica Review spr 2020
