The ease of crossing
on mud-cracked slats
of the footbridge amid flickering debris:
Good. You’ve brought a thing to eat.
The riverbed is inset with fossils.
You’re not early.
Other better walkers
were diverted here and washed their snowy
ankles in the briar.
Then the storm came back, back then,
flooding the lowlands.
I’ve seen you in your best suit.
It hangs well. It smells of earth.
You can lie on your raft in it
waiting for the waters to rise
to the visible bridge. It suits you.
It was built for mourning.