By Missy Ward
Between us was a frozen street,
shining in the dawnlight
like a dark solemn river.
From across the span of eternity,
I watched the bent limping man
scatter seventeen scavenging crows
and dip his battered bucket deep
into the belly of a dumpster.
I saw it come up empty.
I saw him turn around.
And as I walked down the street,
I imagined him fording the
slippery river, more alone
than the first time he crossed it.