What began east
of the Mississippi
(a mile or two) ends
west of it (a mile
or two). The living 

between has crossed
bridges, barely
without jumping, has crossed 

a god (or two). Frozen
but for the falls,
it doesn’t care
where I reside, what
I do when I’m in
overlook position. Whenever 

they gather 8 floors up
by the riverside glass
façade, you know 

the news isn’t good. Nothing’s
locking through this time
of year. Someone has locked down
temptation once
and for all again. Me, 

I’m off that pedway—believing
in movement because
of the falls and everything they touch.