Lift Bridge

A firefly hovers over a waterfall.
A hard-won contrast in the river valley
after dark. This tiny flashlight
directs her to the bend
where womb meets tomb whispers bomb.
Not a wrong note, a controlled explosion
relived in too tall echoes
that bounce against packed dirt block walls.
Somehow the bleeding stops. She smells
cattails, moss, yesterday’s morning rain,
knows his hand will swing to reach her soon.

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