Drops of Color/ A Poet

Drops of Color
A Poet

A Poet
meandering along 
a forest path
arrived at the foot of a
wooden Bridge.

The Bridge spoke,
“Poet,
for so long I have waited
for your coming.
Step upon my boards
and write me, Poet.”

The Poet took a step,
followed by another.
Then, with her hands,
she held the smooth timber
allowing her the ability to grasp hold
as higher and higher the Poet rose
landing on the boards
laid just so for crossing.

In the Bridge’s center,
the Poet paused.

Choosing to sit down,
words splintered across the pages,
an ‘image’ took shape.

The Bridge swayed in delight.

Moments passed,
time was no longer understood
—seconds mattered not.

The descending sun lifted the Poet
from her perch, a Bridge.

Putting her tablet and pens aside,
the Poet arrived on the other side.

The Poet bowed,
and quietly whispered
a word of thanks.

The Bridge echoed back,

“Thank you Poet.
You reside in each of my steps…
Cross on.”