It's okay. There's always
a bridge—a giant
twinkling mythological creature
stretched and sleeping
over the churning
curve of fresh water,
a way back—
if you think
you ever need one.
But, you don't think—
you grip
tight to the silver
rails of this rented
catamaran in the crisp wind,
and you deepen,
like that distant
bridge's prodigiously
thick foundations
sunken
into the dark and
Paleolithic limestone bedrock;
while topside,
your rigid little
bones and tight skin
begin to loosen—
from being whipped across
the straits of Mackinac
this great and turbulent
confluence of gray
glass mirrors—called Superior
and Huron. And from now on,
there's no tolls to pay,
just a frozen Bluetooth
and a hiccuping 4G connection.
It's okay. This is not
the end of the world—it's
the top.
The edge as you know it,
the peak
as you like it, and as they
will all probably
like it too—
online, in a few
carefully curated pictures
a few days later.
