[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.
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