Below the bridge, beneath the sky, above the river.
NOTHING; Not even breathing.
All this royal blue turquoise and
silver dollars spinning in the sky
like a pendulum around a neck.
Sometimes, all we have to rely on
is gravity. And when we aren’t
being pulled down,
we feel the tugs of one another—
side to side, poking and pleading us
to go this way and that
while we still move in the opposite
direction; Our natural dispositions.
Perhaps if we were born
spools of red thread;
Round and wooden;
We might manage this sort
of existence better;
The constant unwinding
of all we are, weaving us into
the unraveled mess of others.
But here we are;
Flesh on bones.
Lungs filling. Hearts emptying. Fingernails full
of dirt. Here we are; human beings,
marching our way forward
toward a known, we kid ourselves
as being unknown.
Below the bridge. Beneath the sky. Above the river.
NOTHING. Not even breathing.
Times like these, all we have to rely on
is the mercy of gravity
below the bridge,
beneath the sky,
above the river.