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.