It rolls in,
And it brings with it all manner of worlds and other fleeting things;
a contract so old it’s letters bind my bone to my soul, and it strains.
The smile that opened the way
The silent workings of words that would mould the bridge, hold the bridge – till it broke.
Shambling as light and life and hope slip through impotent fingers.
Scrambling to put the beginning and end together, while the middle rolls madly ’round and around my head.
The sun goes down on a beach washed clean,
cloaked in memory.