the story like sound slipping off a bird’s wings taking flight from the rail on the steep incline of the bridge near my house at dusk

tumbling swiftly down
this terrible naked dance takes
like the dangerous slippery texture
of cold winter rocks
or memory
thrown into the opaque overflow
by these heavy rimed hands
useless like bricks
cupped and cradled in the cusp
the fragility and shape of shells
from the slick levee side
grabbing each frosted orb
fumbled greedy like a recompense
and hurled over the distance between
to crack—scar—break the busted surface
these groundless moments
struck here upon the precipice
to pause
and crumble under the weight of gravity and design