NOT A TRACE REMAINS

Today I have again

crossed the rushing black river

where my mind still sees the old bridge,

upstream, in disrepair as we

walked over it. Not a

trace remains, and

the new bridge haunts me with

my age; on it a faded plaque

tells the year of building:

1984. My past, collapsed down

in the cold, dark waters

where green slime covers rocks.

28.06.2019