I will build a bridge 
when it is dark
and you cannot see

the mark of your survival

to remind you- take
the birds broken
at your feet where
they rest and sing
to them, humming

in small beaks a song
if you think
they no longer
can hear.

Remember the trophies
we shattered in the dumpster
that night they came in the
mail? – my sadness,

I will hold a fist
to you and pound
until the dirt lifts.

On the night they died and
took truths from which
you were sculpted- I

scaffold the mind in memory
balance upon broken strands
of silk like a spider, and

find the center/

let us read a tale
I saw between the stars
scripting us- it was

just as true
as this tragedy

and build a bridge
of broken trophies and
birds’ wings between

one story and the next.

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