Forms of Love

The Bridge

        (this poem is still unfinished)

the two of us
travel
a stone bridge
above
a still river
alone
mist rises
clothing
us in lace and
whispers,
in veils of damp
silence
we take all
morning
learning the span
the arch
the tongue between
two shores
in the other
stillness
I pull myself
to shore
watch you pause
then turn
a thousand times
without
thought without need
without
fear of rushing
too soon

to the center
of this
loop this round crest
lifting
us above
placid
selves like leaves
floating
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smelling
the lingering
other
we move like trout
hungry
for nibbled light
for sparks
inside the rock of
the bridge
mist growing
so thick
each returning
becomes
a search a
haunting
of loneliness
hunting
for ourselves in
echoes
in the humming
of stones
with so much
searching
so much blind
reaching
so much fearless
calling
so much turning
touching
fingering the
moistness
so much desperate
loneness
averted again
we jump
we fall clutching
the other
holding our breath
plunging
through moist air
into
the stillness of
ourselves.