directions

cross two narrow and crumbling bridges

they'll hold up

turn left into the weeds
the road is there

directions
for me to get
from my house
to yours

directions
for me to navigate
what little is left
of your life

Sunday is as good a day as any

from your perch
on the bank there
bend down
and brush the snow
from the ice
that holds all of space
between here
and past the stars

cold black empty
and transparent
pricked with sparks

lay your hand softly
there
yes
just there
feel the shiver and gambol
of the stream running
beneath the ice
over sunlit pebbles

lean slowly
into your hand
feel the ice sag
the faint shocks
that travel
through your bones
just before
the glass cracks

the cold slices hot
into your vein

watch the red
running out
to join the stream
running away
under the ice