Here at The Rumpus, we think it’s a little silly that National Poetry Month only has 30 days, so we extend the celebration for just a little bit longer. Welcome to April 31!
Single Lane Bridge
The dark cannot claim the water.
The moon got there first, and now
shines from the deep like a fish light
dropped from a boat. We passed here
hours ago. One does not travel
to a crossing — one does not
abandon his anniversary
bed. I left her sleeping.
The river has no right to such
stillness. I have no right
to complain. Maple leaves splay,
suspended on the surface, each
a hand waiting to close. A sound,
faint in the west, grows, draws near.
And you, my fair, my sweet unnamed:
How like you these spindling rails,
these splintered boards? Are you tired —
are you sleeping, too? Have you any idea?
Johnathon Williams is the editor of Linebreak and of Two Weeks, a Digital Anthology of Contemporary Poetry.
