ONE MORE BRIDGE

There is no poverty with adventure

when pockets are full of travel. Stories

of wide fields with no boundaries wait

with expectations; words of surprise fill

the spaces between. Morning appears

drowsy until the first step, where treasures

await and diners serve up fresh warm pie.

Heads or tails can point the direction. Rain

creates thought for the coming of clear days.

Winds urge me like hands with fresh coffee

as I cross one more bridge.

 

Front porches bid me farewell.

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