by Allan Briesmaster

Here, hitting stride along the bridge of scars,
both prudence and necessity move me,
seldom gross danger now or chance embrace.

I called a truce in the circular wars
instigated to shiningly prove me
more than I am, or can be, at this pace.

I broke my last railing but still bend bars,
wary of each new abutment above me.
Muse on strange imagery streamed from deep space,

deflecting earth’s rumour. Leave unsettled scores.
Love myself enough that others might love me –
till the whole span melts away, without trace.

— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1