We walked on the bridge over the Indiana creek
     for what turned out to be the last time.
It was just a moment, really, nothing more.

However, I remember marveling at the sturdy cables
     of the bridge that held us up.
And threading my fingers through the long
     and slender fingers of my grandfather.
An old man from the Old World
     who long ago disappeared into the nether regions.

And I remember that six-year-old boy
     who had tasted the sweetness of air.
Which still clings to my mouth
     and disappears when I breathe.