Sanity swings in the balance
under the 6th Street bridge.
There are tiny angels there,
hovering between their world
and the steel girders of the bridge.
They have long, wispy tails
and slate gray wings as fragile as falling ash.
They lure you to the waters edge
like so many silent Sirens
mouthing lovely, wordless promises.
Only when you’re too close, already succumbed,
do you see the dark shapes underwater –
monsters gorged on tiny gray-winged angels.