With the familiar rage gone,
burned cold & dead,
he declares all others
victorious
against him.
His voice (too shallow & small
to manage the sturdy concrete rail)
tells them, “You win,
all of you.”
And his words, like sad & wingless
sparrows, take their chances
against the wide open yawn of night,
leaping into the darkness, unknown.
The bridge, so high above,
the water below,
so deep… waiting.
the lazy photographer 