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date = 2016-02-28
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    a man carrying bags
    walks by my post
    the bags chain him down
    to this curly world

    thin and pale is
    the skeleton’s outdoor
    glasses hang intense
    trying to see God

    one shoulder points upright
    his limbs lowly row
    not for the first time
    crosses me this ghost

    bridges we had burned
    cutting up the flow
    and deeper was the cut
    that made up our souls

    in the river now
    the bridges come and go
    still the same bags
    chain us to this world