the bridge

The sky— a deep blue piece of construction paper.

Stars dusted over

like a bottle of glitter knocked off the table in haste, no time to sweep it up.

But, in the existential chaos of the cosmos

there you are.

Because that’s Hercules’s belt, you tell me.

I’m finding the patterns, following your hand, waiting 

for it to come back down to meet mine.

Engulfed in reeds and cattails

the wooden planks become our island. 

I crane my neck to take it all in, saying a silent prayer to the Big Dipper that you’re doing the same

as if I were the stars.

Written Fall 2020

Art Credit: Helene Graham