Last-Known Coordinates in Hand

But how could we ever catch up 
with the walking bridge
when it uproots itself at whim 
to saunter 
through the unappeasable,
ever-expanding 
middle of things, 
trailing its wake of water, 
gouged earth and stone,
and moulting, molten light?

Claire Bateman | Mudlark No. 44 (2011)
Contents | Merciless