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...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COONEY POTTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A MODEST WIT by SELLECK OSBORNE THE REAR-GUARD by SIEGFRIED SASSOON TRIOLET: THOSE VIOLETS BLUE by H. W. BANKS SONG OF SOLOMON: AWAKE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 14 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |