The Bridge

Still waters run deep, so the saying goes
and waters like that need a sturdy bridge.

Your heart and mine are entwined across
a large stretch of life, across desert and meadow.

And I hear the water run across my breath
as I try hard to reach the shore and take a rest.

The bridge I build a part of each and every day
seems finally to reach deep into the waters of your soul.

Allowing my feet to reach the music that is there,
as I wade and peer into the colours that are flowing quietly
in shadow and light , I swim and dive deeply to the bottom
where the bridge is anchored deep.

The water is the colour of your eyes,
its rhythm steady, strong, its feel like silk
flows through my fingers that write your name
into its memories, that are both yours and mine.

Trudi Ralston.
January 20th, 2014.
This poem is dedicated to my husband of 28 years this summer,
a great guy by the name of Michael Clare Ralston.