I glance across the bridge at you
in the distance,
now blurred around the edges
The old days are lanterns floating gentle into the sky.
When first I spotted that yellow-white flame, I took out my spool and threw the string up, once, twice, thrice
It never hooked,
and I stood under its light pacing in the memories of what was, pacing with indecision of what should and could be
Now you
You stand, back to me, miles and miles away
on a path I can barely make out
And I,
Well I have granted myself permission to step in any direction that feels firm under my feet.
