by Antonio Napoli

If your bed and mine

drew closer,

like the banks

of a narrowing river,

then I could send my verdant dreams

to rest between the sheets of your heart.

And you would know

that every mirage of mine,

even the faintest,

is a bridge reaching for you,

suspended above the chasm

of your silence.

But your bed and mine

drift apart,

like blind shores

of a widening river,

and the bridge, woven

with threads of waiting and hope,

collapses, swept away to the sea

of a time that is no longer ours.