Setting fires

The Art Of Burning Bridges

Rain like unwound gauze spun from the sterns

of hulking grey factory ships arrayed

overhead, wallowing in the chop,

decks awash, scuppers bleeding foam

the perfect day for a walkabout

that will take me counterclockwise to

the high banks of all those swollen rivers

tumbling headlong to the sea beneath

every bridge I ever left standing,

slick vantages canted and precarious

but worth the risk for the promise of

pristine views of disused spans long

abandoned, poised in the murk, waiting

for trains of the type painted by Turner;

sooty dragons emerging from dense

soupy backgrounds belching smoke and trailing

glowing cinders that lodge in the maze of

sheltered cross beams where they smolder and

beckon me up to cup them in my hands

and gently coax the licking consuming flames.