Stop Pretending Death Takes Desire with It

by Doug Paul Case

It seems everywhere people are
talking: a woman fell in love with a bridge—
a condition, they’re saying, but—
I don’t know—why hasn’t
anyone admitted to looking
(its spires against navy sky!),
to their longing then
and later for gravity,
water, water, stones…
Who hasn’t seen someone over.
Or driven past, hurrying where
ever. Heard later his name
on the news, sat two days on rough
blue carpet. Or cop-called
through traffic sweating,
bruised, unable to find the right
words, the memories.
(Were they there?)
The plunge, the quiet——
o Luke how do I keep on—