the crystal clear water
rain nailing the surface
where teenagers would swim
to catch their breath before the days heat
as vampires and misquotes
and dragonflies would hide in
the shaded trees
there was a fall there last week
when someone jumped off
burned their last bridge above
where cars stopped to beckon her
not to take a sparrows life,
wife of a carpenter who built
their house of logs and tar,
wood that would catch fire someday
she saw something promising
dropping the hammer and
diving through
one hundred and fifty feet
of fogged consciousness
to the clear end below,
how fear was strong and brief
teeth sinking into the loose gravity
of quivering lips and hands on gravel,
only to let go.
