In the Middle
Standing on the bridge watching brown water
wash the past downstream.
A discarded letter read, re-read, red
words all soaked away,
a shoe that was once brand new and danced, dragged,
stopped and jumped right in,
a cacophony of being in its place
fish, water fleas, weed,
a place from the commotion of being.
Standing on the bridge watching empty sky.
The future all gone,
no starlight, no moon, no far galaxies
to cause reflections
or to reflect on. Waiting for resolve
to unlock the light
to shine anew, illuminating night,
to show the water wash the past downstream
and wait for today.
© Jan Harris May 2003