From ICU, Mercy Hospital, one week after the collapse of I-35 Mississippi Bridge

We stand on the hard hospital floor around your bed
In this room segmented by steel and concrete
And we wonder how the span of our fate can be
Less tenuous than the bridge we crossed daily
Thin and strong running along the line that draws
Bank to bank like a river with no bed

Like a river with no bed these thoughts
Fall
Out onto the concrete, the sound of your heart monitor
Like Mississippi’s whisper
When the stones were falling from their line, forgotten line
We wonder how the span of our own fate can be forgotten
As if bank to bank we clasped arms across your bed
And let no tears drop to salt these pall trusses

Like a broken bridge you lie
Your arm draped jagged down the starched linen,
Eyes clouded like submerged car windows
Mouth half-open. we look down at you like reporters
Our talking jostled as hand-held camcorders' playback
We simply must be near you, we interview
The nurse, the dietary aide, the phlebotomist,
The anesthetist who pressed your hand and commanded “move
Your fingers.”

Please, reach out again to grasp bank to solid bank
Rise up from the river, from this bed white as fate
You look unnatural there when you had such graceful lines.