The Bridge of Us

There is no bridge
of us any more:

Insects
have already eaten the edge of our pages
and the flood
has curved a deeper valley
between us
and flowed away.

Wind
has offered the last posy of its breath
to the hoist of our sail
and withered.

Love
which was climbing
the ladders of gladiolus
has slipped down
on spiral slide of drying seasons.

There is no bridge of us anymore!

This candle whiled away
in silence,
in the silence
of the mediocre world
that like climbing ivies
with the yellow embitter berries of their teeth
come aglow
in the sneers of darkness.

Now
versus the even scale of their fangs
and the unvarying profundity
of our vicious wounds,
there is a shattered evenness
in the mirror
of our wings

There is no bridge of us anymore!