Across the River, A Travel Poem
I am suspended on the brink
of newness; hovering
over the Millennium Bridge.
My skin ripples with the rhythm
of the current rushing
into an ocean, vast as all
that has been and will come.
Through steel slats I see the Thames
flowing fast below, and above
the slightly grey sky hangs.
St. Paul stands steadfast
in the past, while The Globe sits
patiently in the future, with me
poised between the two.
I anticipate the lights of London
glowing white and stark
but now there is only gold,
pulsing softly before the dark.
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