I is a line with no place to stand

alone. I is a framing device. Let us

then move onwards, maybe into light?

The bridges we build connect 

the living, so we reject our Gods

until we return to death. 

The best word I know is ‘no’.

No more pandering, no more 

money, no more of any fight. 

No, I do not want to go 

to that gathering, cross bridges, 

darknesses promising death. 

In some story I was told alongside

my mother tongue was that it took a God

six days to make the terrible wright

that has wrecked upon us 

and on the seventh day He rested.

But we blocked His noise on the eighth.

I is a line with no place to stand

I was too young for Will of its own,

it floated away, that trembling sprite.

I stand alone, bereft of even loss.

If you can understand my plea,

Speak to me, I am one of the eighth.