It's Still Life

A Reach Beyond

That bridge was a perfect thread. A muscle painted red, as if pre-rusted for weather, dressed in dregs for fog. Motionless in its long posture, and locked in love like opposites attract. And there was no pretence that it was something other than its intended purpose — a pier across the air — a reach beyond the edge of worlds. A bridge from here to there, and possibly to nowhere at all.

Be cold and stark and bare,
Be a watchful brailled eye,
Where black water flows.

for dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday: “Bridges”