Brighton Bridge Poem by Abel Olivencia

There came a Thrush
To Brighton bridge
To her cold downy snow
Covered birch woods

Floor planks marked
By hurried prints
Trailing off
to distance errands

In its beak
A crimson flower
As odd its place to rest

How far it must have traveled
With such a treasured gift

But no more odder
Then the hurried footsteps scattered
Along the weathered floor planks
of Brighton bridge

How places seem so certain
Save to those moments
Made up of steps

And no sooner
in wings aflutter
There the crimson flower left