there are sheydim on the bridge to shacharis, now
and my ankle flexes out of place
as i stretch myself to set one foot firmly
on the textured frozen imprints of their claws
the walkway to shacharis is partly protected
by a mesh fence, and the bikeway, and its plastic barriers
which, some days, are shoved inward
links in a chain, kissing the sidewalk “gut morgn, gut yor”
the bridge to shacharis was over water, there
fast running water, muddyred with rebuke
it’s over the lightrailyard and highway, here
and i cross and i don’t cross and
my ankle flexes out of place and –
there are sheydim on the bridge to shacharis, now