Thirty feet below
the water is shallow
                              desperate for rain
               but it is too late now
the water was gifted to the trees
                              again

The sun will soon retreat
               as would I if I could
awash in reds and yellows
               blanketed over blue spectrums of darkness
where the day is behind me
               the night rises

Atop the mighty legs of Quechee Bridge
               the riverbed looks terrifying
                              the days end beckons
               jovial voices call out from the path above
with a jest of intent to end me with it

               But the water is shallow
                              and I don’t know the difference