The Bridge

I was stiff and cold,

I was a bridge,

I lay over a ravine.

My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my shadows sit with me at my sides. Far below the temperature in this room.

No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, can cease to be a bridge.

It was toward evening one day- was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell- my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in the beginning of the season, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step!

If her steps are uncertain, i am down to remain,

but if she stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl her across to land.

She came, she tapped me with the iron point of her voices, then she lifted my blankets with it and put them in order upon me.

She plunged the point of her heart and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me, no doubt while she wildly gazed around her. But then – I was just following her in thought over mountain and valley – she jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening.

Who was it?

A meets?

A kid?

A dream?

A feeling?

A suicide?

A temper?

A destroyer?

A lover?


And I turned so as to see her. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quiet around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water.

I would be a bridge, to let you pass for your better life, or a turn around? a bridge that led her witness once i fell.


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