When the same paths
cross twice sometimes
they don’t line up,
the crucifix beam rises
to form a T or a pillar
on which the heavy bridge
from what was to the what is
races toward the future,
another line in the equation.
The fruit vendor
to whom I admitted the road
has been long is not locked
in sympathy. His daughters
run between the sharp
table edges of his new
produce line.
LOCATION: Rio do Sul, Brazil – Written about a small town outside of Florianopolis through which I had passed earlier by bike, now by car.
