...Listen
Crossing the Bridge

It seems flimsy, suspended between
this worn bank and the opposite unseen
anchors that I have been told will hold
it from collapse. Those who have crossed before,
have not returned to claim the universe is one,
that crow and eagle thrive in flight
and lowly frogs still have their voice.

I meandered without a map, pressed
and pulled by the universe, past stars
through darkness and laughter, naked
in the cold stream. I watched trees grow
as they learned the secrets of the wind.
My shoes are heavy with mud gathered
from travel in this unexpected background.

Here I am, at the edge where the stream
cascades in diamonds to the valley.
New trees crowd the narrow path behind,
their branches full of fluttering birds
singing high pitched notes that I once sang.
Bright and green, the warm leaves flutter
and whisper in the wandering wind

Here I am, and here is the bridge across
the valley where diamonds fill the air
and fall, and fall forever out of sight.
I will cross once I clean the mud
from my worn but sturdy shoes.