There was a bridge, and on the bridge a sunset.
You were with me, walking out in front,
silhouetted, an eclipse, a study of the sun,
my eyes the film, this poem the developed copy.
In the margin of the image: all the foliage
I thought of going into, berry bushes of some kind.
I wanted to fall into them with you,
and come out bleeding, hoping to return.
And look now how your hair, more yellow in those years,
is dark already in the almost-night;
see how the shawl you wore is falling off,
just as the sun is falling off the ocean.
Say of Depression
Say of depression anything you want.
There’s a homunculus in your brain
fiddling with the circuit board.
That’s not it exactly.
You see the world for how it really is.
Something about Mom telling you at nine
you don’t know anyone until you’ve married them.
Say of depression: Constantly.
Say of depression the specific times.
Say of depression that you’re not alone
to people who might really be alone.
Animals can have it too, you know.
They discovered it in dogs.
There are songs that think they understand you.
Say of depression you don’t remember life without it.
A you without it would be someone else.
Assure your love: I don’t think this will last forever.
I see a bright new sun, and it’s the greatest thing.
JOEY FRANTZ's poetry and criticism have appeared in The New Criterion and The Hopkins Review. He teaches chess in Seattle.