The Sandy Eubank Memorial Prize
There are other, more dangerous bridges. Gangster limb,
snake-smooth branches. Gangly ropes of air
and spider silk. How bad you want to get there?
There is a ladder up into these dawn clouds.
You have to imagine it first. You have to start where you are,
gather up threads and broken pencils from the floor.
The children have collaged scraps into beloved cities.
After, we will find their diaries bricked up in ghetto walls.
Racing hearts in eastbound trains still ringing tiny bells.