[The bridge’s shadow lies across the water]
The bridge’s shadow lies across the water rippled and furled by the river. This is what we wanted of great architecture, to see the massive—the ship pulled down Broadstreet in spectacle, conveyed into the harbor waves— the massive made light. Taken down by its own weight, a drowning body becomes a cool instrument for fathoming the deep. Have learned the spirit clings to the body, like strayed mariner birds on driftwood. Here is one walking curled against the drizzle, he holds a blue cinch of anonymous market flowers. I will name them gunsparks, and judaskisses, (I’ll not call you John, you don’t need a fixed name anymore.) watching him until I can no longer see him.