Stained and graying,
worn with years of lift and lower,
lift,
and lower,
my visage carries hints of ancient lineage,
of castle and keep,
of chapels, moats, and black-clad knights.
Means to an end,
spanning the gap from you to Other,
I link invisibly until,
in opening to some large or lofty vessel,
some thought orthogonal to your own,
I block your passage, your routine;
breaking the ordinary.
Stop!
Watch as larger lives than yours
float or churn through deeper waves
below my surface as you wait.
Stop!
Consider heading home some other way,
or, going back to my bascule beginning,
clamber down and launch some bright canoe
to follow where this river leads.
* * *
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