There's no such thing as an emergency. Betrayal is eventual. The bridge is a river, when you think about it. River of blood, when you think about it. The Lord giveth. Highest echelons of quietude. A veronica in each sunset. In every blackening bandage in the hospital's unspeakable bins, a veronica. Someone suffered here. The elevator full of blood rose like any other. Why not. Our nets were full of sunset when we hauled them in. The red sail filled and pulled us darkward. Blood in the drumroll blossomed. The Lord giveth. Thou shalt. Change the bandages when they blacken. Don't think about it. Set the red sail and disappear. Slow drip in silence. Don't say a word. Don't say the wineglass on the sill is a sun-dried Sangreal. It's a landscape. You just can't bring your body. The bridge is an inward horizon. The bridge has arrived in time for us to cross. I know because someone, or his assistant, suffered here. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR JULY 12TH, 1843 by JOHN DE JEAN FRAZER SUMMER MATURES by HELENE JOHNSON SANDALPHON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SUMMER STORM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 48. AL-WADOOD by EDWIN ARNOLD ZEUS TOO IS A VICTIM by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS |