In the Median

“Come,” she beckoned with her hand
so I went. Over the barrier, onto the bridge.
She sat gazing up Higgins
to the North at the horizon
where hills were distinguished
by their starless silhouettes.
I sat opposite, looking for anything
but to the south there was nothing.
Nothing but her.

She seemed to me to be equal to a goddess.
She seemed to me, if it is allowed,
to be above the heavens.
But I could reach out
with mortal limbs and burning muscles
and touch her icy skin
or cover her blue eyes.

Cold concrete glittered under downtown lights.
River ice slid past like trains
moved and shifted by snowy shorelines
flowing on towards the warmth in the West.

“Get out of the street, you fucking morons!
Can’t you see you could be killed?”

“What difference does it make to you, buddy?”
I had already died and gone to heaven
or maybe I would get there by crossing the bridge.

(From March 2015)

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