no fear of falling. no sight the bottom.

Sliding down as casualty
across the bamboo bridge.
You hope your feet survive
if not - hold onto the lady at the ledge.

Sunshine a distant memory.
The mechanic hum so new and jarring.
Search the streets for smoke and coffee,
night time a dragon.
Wait for the queen of spades.

The bumps of the way back up,
mystery out in the fog.
Above and below feet sucking in.
Left alone no form or mercy.
Gift to me the sound of trees,
strung along across the border
where danger awaits.

An image in
a word.
Hold close until mists part
and all is smog again.

11/2/2011