The Millennium Poems: # 76
The middle of the bridge -
and down there
flickering with moonlight or the flashing light
of a passing train
is the Creek.In a fairy-tale the Creek thinks aloud:
There is the man again
but what on earth does he carry on his back?
Despite the jeering howl of traffic
the man is alarmed
by this voice like a cloud of whispers
rising out of thin air.
The Creek instantly understands its mistake
and thereafter speaks only
the various language of running water
whenever it sees the man.Night after night
the man stands in the middle of the bridge
and leaning against its iron rail
tumbles the troubles of the world
from his ruck-sack
into the Creek.
Never surprised by anything
the Creek has made grief its bailiwick
and accepts the man's excess
with a succession of diverting splashes.Night after night
the Creek in its light & laughter
farewells the man
who leaves the bridge almost shyly
like rust deceiving wreckage
that that's the last of it.
