Grey Bridge


Grey bridge,

through the rain.

Green hills,

red church steeple,

and structures

dotting through the trees,

like secret memories,

hinted at

in whispers.

Mist off the bay,

and cold air

replaces the bloated heat

of scant hours ago.

Further East

than we imagined.

Wander rocks

and spill us out

over these kelp covered shores.

We carry memories

of our own.

Perhaps we have come here

to bury them

in the Atlantic.

We’ll return west,

solitary vessels.

Emptier than we came,

but with our memories


in solid rock.



DJR – 07.28.23

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