The sea here used to look <br />As if many convicts had built it, <br /> <br /> <br />Standing deep in their ankle chains, <br />Ankle-deep in the water, to smite <br /> <br /> <br />The land and break it down to salt. <br />I was in this bog as a child <br /> <br /> <br />When they were all working all day <br />To drive the pilings down. <br /> <br /> <br />I thought I saw the still sun <br />Strike the side of a hammer in flight <br /> <br /> <br />And from it a sea bird be born <br />To take off over the marshes. <br /> <br /> <br />As the gray climbs the side of my head <br />And cuts my brain off from the world, <br /> <br /> <br />I walk and wish mainly for birds, <br />For the one bird no one has looked for <br /> <br /> <br />To spring again from a flash <br />Of metal, perhaps from the scratched <br /> <br /> <br />Wedding band on my ring finger. <br />Recalling the chains of their feet, <br /> <br /> <br />I stand and look out over grasses <br />At the bridge they built, long abandoned, <br /> <br /> <br />Breaking down into water at last, <br />And long, like them, for freedom <br /> <br /> <br />Or death, or to believe again <br />That they worked on the ocean to give it <br /> <br /> <br />The unchanging, hopeless look <br />Out of which all miracles leap.<br /><br />James Dickey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-darien-bridge/
