The Crossing

We’re gonna cross

that bridge

when we get there.


and not a moment



that I say to you

could be a lie,

until it’s time to cross the water.


They used to say

that ghosts and demons

couldn’t cross the river.

They were held at bay,

turned back

by the rushing water.

But on certain nights,

that old covered bridge

would span more than a river,

so even the damned

could cross over.


Maybe the stars will align,

and maybe in our path,

that next rapid course,

that carved the mountains down,

would separate us

from our future.

Suddenly we have a choice;

go on,

or turn back, now.


You look at me

and I can see

the uncertainty in your eyes,

for we’ve both been devils

a time or two.

Is this one of those

hallowed and holy times

when souls like ours

can cross the river?


Sun or Moon,

stars or cloudy sky.

I have never learned

the ways of Magic in this world,

only slow,

painful progress

and so I step towards the bridge.

One step,

two steps

and suddenly my arm goes taut;

for I am holding your hand

and you have not yet

taken a step.


The tears in your eyes

belie the terror in your soul

and tell me that I’ll be going on



Rage as I might,

I cannot drag you forward,

cannot move you

past the threshold

of this old, covered bridge.

My next steps

will separate us


and I’m already taking them.


Some bridges

cannot be crossed twice.

I feel your fingertips

slide from my hand.

Your eyes hold

a miserable apology,

but you and I

could have never known.

We thought we’d cross that bridge


when we came to it.


I am lost

in the darkness

of the tunnel

of that covered bridge.

Looking back,

you silhouette fades

and ahead is a new day,

a new life.

God, how I hate it.


All I ever asked for,

but without you

I am alone.

Who knows the pain

of fate and longing

more than those

who cross that bridge alone?

More than a ghost?


HG -2018

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