The leaves shiver slick
from their branches, anxious 

as an empty hand. I knew your ochre
silhouette like a loon knows south.

We talked in switchbacks. I trailmarked
our days, counted each gooseberried sunrise.

That old bridge, swaying
like autumn— I walked towards you

without knowing the river, breaking
hard for the cliff’s edge,

throwing itself into a veil
of flight.

Check out the poem that inspired this poem here and check out the rules that I made for the poem here.