On the Windswept Bridge

By | 1 May 2014

I walk across the bridge
for the pleasure of walking across the bridge,
daring the wind to pluck me up like a bird,
make me a cloud in its mouth,
transiting the boundless high
camino of unearthly blue,
morphing to a golden fetish
of the sun when day is through.

I cross the bridge
for the pleasure of striding
over ingots of gold light,
frisked by air’s invisible probes,
adrenalin channelling helium.

I do not resemble Hokusai’s women,
robed in ornate kimono folds,
clattering in high-runged clogs
with mincing gait to appear demure.
Above the diamond-python river
I quicken pace as the wind leans closer,
loosening hair, unfastening laces,
lifting my skirt, an impatient lover.

This entry was posted in 61: NO THEME III and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work: