The river rushes between steep banks
Of pebble and mud, without a word of thanks
to the hips of the bridge that spans its width,
A single step over the joist, and she is over the water’s flanks.
The joists are solid under the flooring beneath her feet,
Though the wooden struts strain and moan in windy sleet,
what’s behind grows dim in the veil of ice
each step only forward, toward the voice of a future she’s yet to meet.