MADIAN BRIDGE

24 hours. Hour after hour,

each day’s weight, each night’s.

At the bridge rail, someone breeds dark thoughts.

Day after day, so much wounded time!

At each crossroads, danger rubs shoulders with danger.

On the bridge, traffic’s turmoil.

Below, tremor and rumbling load.

Life, a highway. Family

a brief stop. Tires smoldering, sweating, scalding hot.

Sooner or later, an accident smashes the plan.

From this side or that

Madian Bridge has no interior, only an empty arch.

The red skirt passing by, the trembling breasts;

for pine and cypress, not enough air.

Tea trees embrace their formal spheres.

24 hours. Hour after hour,

cars, bicycles, horse carts, heavy trucks.

Again and again fear drives us from the house.

Put off your dream, or wake in it.

How else to deal with this racket?

Still have to make a living.

Still have to lug upstairs the vegetables, the meat.