Though the little wooden bridge in May
still joins—
I can’t distinguish my finest memory
from among the worthless.
Now and then there are bare trees
between gray towns,
and soot rising in pink air.
With a rare tenderness
I have dispersed all agreement.
I need no mediator.
No trees to surround the shelter,
no sky to extend a hand to the trees,
hardly that of a life to accept its claptrap
unity: for as surely as I am drawn
toward a beaming uncertainty,
a cavity of earth will open
and the dreadful hoot of a bird
be absorbed:

There’s you, laughing:
the abysmal repeats itself.
You are not yet dead,
I am already alone.



Transpontine:
1) on or from the other side of an ocean, in particular the Atlantic.
“she approached the task with typical transpontine enthusiasm”

2) on or from the other side of a bridge