The bridge from my heart to yours,

seems bruised and worn,

painted with our tears,

engraved with our years.

Under a passageway,

where I lie covered,

unseen by the world,

emerging from rushing rivers,

unveiling ourselves to the world.

Our bones, mere ashes,

our blood, the sweetest wine,

holes carved in our bodies,

where each wishes to reside.

Resign to the  meadows of goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace.

Follow me if you you are willing,

leave only a trace of our secluded repose,

a window to that memory,

a clandestine place and time,

long ago,

when wishing was having,

and we became true.

Suspending our love in bridges over troubled waters.