I remember my bridge- sitting in the evening
Hair blown, smells indistinct,the kids playing
On the sand below, buffaloes on way home.
There was another bridge but I was not there
Above the water and the speedy cars passing
Like a nobody’s business but it was like that.
Bridges existed and one had better be there.
The beautiful bridge did exist and so did she.
A beautiful woman, her hair blown, her body
Turned nonexistent, but the mind continued
In sheaves of random prose , tattered verse .
There are bridges of existing, hers and mine.