Over

We are leaning into a point.
Over rushing water.
Over cold tracks.
Our heels ache from balancing.
The city has risen around us.

What wonders!
We have all of the things.
We have streets and chimneys and flagpoles.
My body is a house.
Your fingers are bricks.
We have a wall.
It guards the way.
We pretend no one waits there.

Should we close this bridge?
I don't remember building it
And it would be nice to cross.
To see the city.
To retrace.
I heard that there is a lighthouse and a tunnel here, built first.
But they have been pushed to the back.
Out of focus.
And there are no lights in either.
But beyond them is something.
Something half formed.
To finish?

Over

We are leaning into a point.
A point we don't remember making.
A point that doesn't quite meet in the middle.
And our heels are slipping.

Let's open the bridge.
You keep the house
And I'll keep the bricks.
There are two cities here.
And the people at the wall
Don't wait, but pray.
For us.
Poor bricks.
Poor house.
Poor wall.
We didn't stack.
Or close the windows.
We forgot the gate.
There was never any water.
Never any tracks.
A city on a white sheet.
And there are unfinished houses
And piles of bricks on every street.
Even the pink sky
Is a paper crown.

Over

And we are leaning into a point.
Over a blank white void.
Over unfilled time.
Over streets and chimneys and flagpoles.
Over empty space.

Over.