Brighton Bridge

There came a Thrush To Brighton bridge To her cold downy snow Covered birch woods Floor planks marked By hurried prints Trailing off to distance errands In its beak There a crimson flower As odd its place to rest How far it must have traveled With such a treasured gift But no more odder Then the hurried footsteps scattered Along the weathered floor planks of Brighton bridge How places seem so certain Save to those moments Made up of steps And no sooner in wings aflutter There the crimson flower left