To the Unborn

On the wooden bridge
in twilight,
so many questions.
We embrace as
we always have.
There is solace in
our union.
The Seine is the color
of a grey pony.
We wait for others
to pass by.
We stare into the water,
into strangers’ faces.
The future is in the wind.
We cannot know
what will come.
This is a time before.
Our hands touch each other’s
backs and arms.
A chill runs through our bodies.
This is a time of longing.
This is a time when a baby
will not come.
We shrink back from life,
feeling without direction, purposeless.
Why are we here?
What will we have to do
to continue?
How will we survive
when our very beings
repel that which is our greatest dream?
There is no one to turn to
except for each other.
We face one another on the
windy bridge,
in the most
beautiful city in the world
with life and water
holding out
for one more year
and one more child


words: Alexandra Ernst, France/Vermont (more & more)
image: Peter Schwartz, Maine (Sitrah Ahra)

another union poem: Unified Fields


BluePrintReview - issue 20 - The Missing Part