The Poetry of
Jack Scott

The Bridge of Years

I think I am mid-bridge,
but the swirling of the water
makes me wonder
when I stop to rest:
which shore am I nearing;
which one have I left?
I have come to meet you here.
That was our covenant,
but you are not in sight.
If the years between us
are no more than twice
as far as you had come
and I am that far from you
my steps are equal either way
and I can close our distance
since you have not come to me.
Perhaps the bridge between us
was just too far for you
to halfway cross
to meet me in the middle.
Toward or away from you
my steps would be the same.

What have I to lose?


566 ®Copyright 2010 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.