the bridge

my bridge over
the stream is narrow,
weak with logs
and branches
that have fallen
under snow. it's
fragile, and sways
in the wind.
i can barely
walk from here
to there across
the cold water, to
keep my balance
so high in
the air without
slipping as i
have done before,
but i'll try
if it gets me
back to you,
and where you
wait, reaching
out your ungloved
hand.