A Reserved Light
In the damp night, the lamps burn
and shine a reserved light on the bells
lining the walkway. People file by in
aimless direction; strolling blind
passengers in a dream filled malaise.
Hand in hand on the bridge two students
converse, words obscured in the dense
air. One seeks a way to unlock the other,
speaks of ice the sun cannot melt
trapped in the shadows of man’s heart.
Flowers peel and fall into deception. They
line the cobblestone streets or float and
sink into the stream. Some few escape
on a brief gust and are carried high
into the air to disappear in the clouds.
It was late when the soldier came. He missed
his bus, and another would not be coming.
The weight of the burden burns his
mind and he sits near the students on
the bridge, his head in his hands turned stone.
I don’t know where we will be tomorrow.
If I asked I would admit defeat. The dawn may
see you in a deep blue dress, the dew on the
grass wetting your feet, and your lips
blowing away the illusion of our fears.