As many bridges as I can walk
I have, suspended over

water’s bounded body,
a bent-limb river flowing

in imitation of life’s farewells.
Over opaline bowls and

chipped basins where nets
are cast so fathers and sons

can feed the hungry and
holy daughters work mysteries

of bounty: We are flesh and
gifted sustenance.

Along a roadbed I lose myself in
elemental apocalypse,

earth water air — and fire rushing
over the rumble spilling from

a reedy source to
a greater body demanding tribute.