Bridges

Leaving a mark

Photo by Ghena Kruk on Unsplash

When you throw your words at me from across the river, they don’t become piers. Don’t sink into the silt and mud, don’t allow a bridge to be built. They shred themselves with the current and are gone. They scatter in the sun like thieves.

Your words hardly leave a mark. They should have.

Look at me! I’m covered in letters. I lie here in the dreaming sun, against the heated…