The bridge tower
beckoned to him,
like some strange
and shining fortress
from the fantasy books
of his youth;
that distant time
before his parents
divorced,
and his world died.
The view,
from his perch
on the pylon,
seemed
to be of twinkling
faerie lights,
viewed through the shimmer
of Avalon’s mist.
He forgot, momentarily,
the sadness
of running away,
and the cruel reality
of the streets.
In a moment of
crystalline clarity,
he saw that
the meaning of his life,
of his pain,
of his very being,
was only a prelude
to the finality
of now,
as the wind
of his swift passage
parted the fog
to reveal a glad smile
that would see
no tomorrows.