the falsework gave way beneath the falsework
a bridgeless space opens time is flat
light streams     falls     a lightwell forms
where nothing opens in the orange bridge
is neither evidence nor is it stable
an orange bridge is riveted in blue
& you begin to fall     you fell
you span the weave of bodily perfection
my bridge makes distance grammar, theory bend
the crows’ calls as clear as speech
lose the glowing rivet to the glint
of a river purling fourhundred feet dark
there the skaters will glide come December
& your descent is true     is true