Brent Kininmont

Seto Ohashi Bridge

for Sanae

We walked until
late afternoon,
looking for leaps

in imagination,
legs straining against
the trail of hills,

the notebook folded
into my pocket.
Then, out of the air

in this train
coming back,
a line writes itself

between islands,
one thought leading
to another,

about the audacity
of steel, say,
how it carries on

over tankers, trawlers,
that ferry down there –
the one, perhaps,

we had rushed
to catch, but missed
the connection.

Author’s Note

Sources

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