There are invisible bridges
among the great cities of the world,
not seen from space
(the eye of satellites is myopic)
a bridge here and another there,
through them hearts cross
the poor throw themselves on their faces
on icy nights,
a girl greets her father
she sings a cricket
in the ribs of the capitals,
a thread goes from one side of the oceans to the other
like musical rails slide
and the great ball turns on its own pupo
and around the creditor sun is uncovered
the eyes of a bottle of cosmic wine,
bridges that underlie time
and to the stellar orbit of memory,
in those cities tied together
live students who leave the
college because they can't pay
quarterly rent,
ministers and sweepers and teachers who
They wait for the bus to go home.
Sometimes love climbs those bridges
and travel the world
like a ghost
the ghost of the twin cities
the same generator set
the same amount of raw material
the cities will be lonely sometime
alone in space