About the watered main we trickle round the fringes
of dangerous bridges.
The fish about are hungry and so are we,
We have gone through so much pain
to see it end this way, a crush of thumping rhythmes
and newer beginnings. It is all too much,
much too much for a meal.
Maybe a storm can come to blow it all gone.
There would be a comfort in my forgetting this windy, windy dawn.
Then I might eat my heart and leave this building of bridges.
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