Listen to it a couple of times … read it out loud slowly … pick the one word, image or phrase that strikes you the most and carry it with you through the day as you yearn and pray for peace.
At the turn of the year, the river
here was clogged with lumps of ice: tonight,
this water, so lately a flint-tongued impediment,
is cool and soft as kitten-lapped milk
yet swift and sure in its onward flow. Here
I stand so, on the cusp of burgeoning summer
beneath my feet, steel struts powerfully tensioned,
above me, white spars, poised, sail ready,
elegant arms, outspread readied to receive.
People need bridges: for stepping on, and off;
for getting over on; for ease of traffic,
for harmony and for concord. This bridge
is more than an assembly of nuts and bolts,
is a fresh cast embodiment of hope and faith,
and a new stepping-stone of the mind
for us to cross on without hocus-pocus.
Bridged here, between sea lane and air lane
where exile and trespasser meet, and
grey ghost ships float, we
the communality rest on this aspiration,
this conviction in the strength
of forearm locked to forearm
We have turned our back on them,
on those phantoms of the dead,
and on those phantoms of the living.
It’s no go with the flow, the rag tag standards,
submarined pennants, old banners and tattered flags.
We have turned our backs on the sight
and smell of blood,
and yes, we now assert our feelings and
claim this breathing land
with piles sunk deep into sweet, damp,
dry and loam-and-gravel ground
the fusty reek of its ancient earthiness,
shivering light and shade; a ground infused with the
hidden turbulent currents of love and life.
The long night that bruised my cheek
carries the vanilla tang of wine,
it tantalizes my sense of taste and touches my skin,
I am alive.
Above my head the wind plucks at strings,
plays a requiem fro us and for them,
the moon rides on a rippling mirror,
impatient, it overrides the sinuously serpentine shadows,
we are too impatient for peace,
yet we are half caught between two worlds
tomorrow and yesterday are held in one single moment
in this one place.
Time between times, places between places
it is time to cross over,
for those of us who are passionate about
voyages, this is our time,
for those of us who believe in bridges,
this is our time.