Hanson's Bridge (part four...the river's song)

i love to walk
this wet asphalt road
and kick
at winter's
few remaining clumps
of brown and black snow;
they explode
exposing white insides
then skate
pirouetting
in slow motion
across the pavement
through the sunlit vapor
embedding themselves
within
the dripping skeletons
of dead drifts;

the faster the melt
the louder
the river's song will be
and i can already hear its song
calling me to Hanson's Bridge;
it mingles
with humming trees
in the gentle wind;
its song is embellished
by birds excitedly chirping
and fluttering their wings;
and the leaves
are back
on branches again
applauding
the passing of winter;

once more
i am able to return the bridge
to rest on its rail
and watch the river flow
like a cold crystal snake
slithering endlessly
beyond the horizon;
i watch
as it slips past
the rich green and muddy brown meadow
where wildflowers
have sprayed a hint
of colors yet to come;
but mostly i just listen
to the river's song
hearing hidden in it
your laughter from long ago
and your whisper
so warm and close
that i can feel your lips
against my ear;

then as midday
takes away the morning chill
i peer down
at the water
and carelessly reach
for the reflection
of the sun
shining brightly
like a brilliant yellow daisy
atop a crystal serpent


Hanson's Bridge (part five.....awakening)

sometimes i dream
of places
i've never been
with strangers speaking
foreign languages
and doing foreign things
i do not understand

sometimes i dream
in fast-forward
pausing only to study
the most curious of scenes
even though
they may distort my perceptions
and endanger my heart

sometimes i dream
of driving in a thick fog
with no brakes
no headlights
and a melting steering wheel
that oozes between my fingers
like a dali watch

sometimes i dream
of a river of wildflowers
soundlessly
racing by me
beneath Hanson's Bridge;
and then i awake
to a warm soothing whisper
that seems so real
i can feel your lips
against my ear