…
After the art gallery and the museum,
past the light’s edge and into a hush,
the rough concrete path carries me.
…
Ahead, the bridge stands,
its outer arch dark;
its under-arch held in the orange hum of a sodium light.
…
On the bricks lies a stained mattress;
a tent sags.
The river laps at algae-slick rocks.
…
The light cuts.
Metal scrapes on concrete.
Light returns.
The walls are bare.
…
While the mosquitoes whine
and the rank air lifts from the rocks,
I do not move.
The light holds.
…
…
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