The crumbling, mossy stone-bridge
achingly arches over the murky river
like a rusted rainbow over
staled expectations.
Its stooped railings still
tingle at the memory of
all the hands
– hopeful, sprightly, enraged,
tired, frightened, infatuated-
touching them.
The water drags its gray tongue
between the cheerless banks,
while muddy blades of grass
huddle up under a senile
weeping willow that
can’t remember whom
was it weeping for.
The grotesque conspiracy
of the weather elements
has muddied the daylight.
Night?
Night.
Endless, rainy, muddy night!