This night is a violet blue water lily,
frozen in ice beneath the steel bridge—
which we walk over, hand-in-hand,
unable to hear what the other
has been trying to say;
Probably for years.
Traffic is too loud.
The moon is not out.
We’d both be better off
if we knew how pretty that lily was.
But neither one of us are jumping,
without taking the other one with—
hand-in-hand. So we’ll have to settle
for our own breathe fogging up city lights—
while the traffic quiets just long enough
that we both forget where it was
we just came from, in such a hurry.

written on 02/08/2011 by: Matt Kane