Echoing Lives

At dusk, the air softens into smoke,

the river hums beneath the bridge.

A woman draped in mist crosses slowly,

lantern trembling in her hand.

The wood creaks—a voice or memory—

echoing lives long folded into silence.

Her steps make ripples through the fading light,

as if time itself were water.

She pauses midspan,

the lantern’s glow breathing against the dark,

a single flame between worlds—

neither here, nor gone.

Somewhere beyond the reeds,

a bell tolls once, then vanishes.

The bridge remains,

and so does she—

a whisper moving through the twilight.