dead end road #77

walked this exact road before
felt this wilderness in earlier times
found this lake at the end
seventy-six times or so
maybe more, maybe less
but all the same, each time I trick myself
into believing the bridge will be there.
on my first journey here,
i stepped onto a bright, white bridge
but when I reached the middle
it crumbled beneath my feet
and into the lake I tumbled with the pieces.
though to this very path, I continue to return
first step is so tentative
into the tender, fresh forest
second step feels better, so natural
and soon I’m skipping
breathing in this path, so deep
and just as every time I’ve come here
i’m looking for the bridge
i’m so sure of it this time
i can step ever so lightly over it
and waiting on the other side
is sure to be a gift greater than words.
yet here I am again, the edge of the lake
no bridge, just clear, undisturbed wetness
setting sun filters through leaves
sprinkles over the water
and for the seventy-seventh time
or so
i jump into the lake
no breath before I leap
and slowly I sink, watching the darkness gather
close to the bottom I see the pieces
of the shattered white bridge
knowing they won’t be reassembled
i claw through the water, pulling for the top
just as my lungs start to burn
i break the surface
and climb out onto the banking,
staring at the side it’s impossible
to simply swim to.