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by Ann Mortifee
There are bridges we cannot cross
There are stories that can't be told
There are the thin straight scars
That hold back red flood tides
Blood thus severed
We distance our longing
In a show of acceptance
Appearing
Nonchalant at sunset
From the upstairs window
Behind a curtained veil
We watch the geese fly south
Once more
Emptying the sky
Of their V - formed splendour
There are bridges we cannot cross
There are stories that can't be told
There are the thin straight scars
That hold back red flood tides
Blood thus severed
We distance our longing
In a show of acceptance
Appearing
Nonchalant at sunset
From the upstairs window
Behind a curtained veil
We watch the geese fly south
Once more
Emptying the sky
Of their V - formed splendour
copyright Ann Mortifee 1996
copyright Ann Mortifee 1996
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