The bridge stands but the chestnut tree is dying.

 

BRIDGEHEART

 

The bridge stands but the chestnut tree is dying,

wreathed in a bridal choke of fungal bloom.

Only the river hears the bridge guard sighing.

 

Each day she wonders at this act of flying;

the ones that soar and those that fall too soon.

The bridge stands but the chestnut tree is dying.

 

Beckett said fail better for your trying,

so she tries and fails her best to reach the moon.

Only the river hears the bridge guard sighing.

 

She takes a private course in nature’s signing,

watches closely as the elements commune.

The bridge stands but the chestnut tree is dying.

 

She thinks there is no trick but in the timing –

some days none are favored, none are doomed.

The river longs to hear the bridge guard sighing.

 

Today there is no contract that is binding

but the human heart and all its empty rooms.

The bridge stands but the chestnut tree is dying.

The river always hears the bridge guard sighing.

fungus

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