by sophie

Sometimes, when you are walking home alone on a trestle above a river &

there

Is a broken pattern of geese above it, a “V” decomposing, a sky mottled

with blue

And some clouds. It is like a father dissolving, & setting you free, & what

 

Has the father ever achieved that will outlast his own vanishing? And so

The boy spits over the railing & watches the silvery web of it falling

And thinning until it is gossamer, a filament untying itself forever & saying

 

Exactly what forever always meant to say–that this long pull of spring tide

in the river

Needs nothing, nothing except its one momentary witness, a boy pausing

 

Above it all on a bridge.

 

— from The Perfection of Solitude: A Sequence, by Larry Levis

Advertisements