My bare toes peek over the steel beams
contemplating the water that calls them home.
It isn’t fear that keeps me from the edge,
but the impulse to jump.
The wind sits in my chest like a song
like the smell of your promises,
like the outstretched reach
of unforgiven pages, sacrificed in honor
of the little sparrow. For him I ask the river
for reflection, but the sage replies, “I’ve known you
longer than that.”
And I’ve known the shape of your back
silhouetted against the time you moved,
like water, on my hardwood floors.
The tapestry of tomorrow hung on my walls
begging you to read what I cannot surrender.