how to remember

Your heart sent an emissary,
and it arrived without shape—
a flicker, a hinge,
a breath that learned to stand.

On the broken bridge
it gathers itself into form,
choosing bones from fog,
choosing stride from memory.

It names the crossing
in a language I don’t know,
syllables that taste like metal
and old rain.

I carry it anyway,
because carrying is the only way
the bridge remembers
how to be a path.

🥅