Poem 28: The Bridge

from below
the sky divided
into silent parts,
a master staple
holding the rivers width
and in regret fastens
the land apart
and the day
into hiding,
until passing upward
and from above
sees the evening
in hooped pairs
as the dusk children
steeped in whispers
hold the night
at hands reach
and from
a breathing platform
caress hovering dreams
as the fall
to the cold morning
that crawls in
on congested arteries
of argument
as the bridge
curls its skin
to the poisoned air
and grey sinews tighten
in a helpless
silent prayer
to keep the city
at bay
until the twilight leaving.