Today's poem is by Larissa Szporluk


All that is built falls at night.
The call goes out, everlasting.

Large father, how could you?
When it breaks, itís no longer

a bridge, but pillars and rivets
and glue. I thought you were

a miracle. I panic like a fish,
push the needle in—the way

to grow vague, to confound
from afar, is to rain, lose face

without having a face to begin,
like the way to the top is to be

on top to begin, time the fix,
time and again—did the man

in the moon step down to save
his drowning twin? The hang

gave way as the planks went
soft. It was such a mild winter.

Copyright © 2003 Larissa Szporluk All rights reserved
from The Canary River Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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