where on this bridge do
I rest?

poised over the water, rocks
reflecting their game up over
the rivulets

bubbles are cheap-
that's what she's said.

I hold your fingers between mine
carefully pinched, like a tattered butterfly wing

now the powder of my choice clings
I blow on it softly, unsure
asking it to disperse in the wind

where are your eyes?

what is this heart?


Who is my song?