THE ARCHES of the red bridge
Are stronger than ever:
The arches of the scarlet bridge
Are of rough, bleak stone.

(Why should such massive arches be the span
From cloud to tenuous cloud?)

Let us not seek omens in the guts
Of newly slain fowls;
Leaving such play to the children,
Let us pluck wild swans
From under the moon;
Or, challenging strong, terrible men,
Let us slay them and seek truth
in their smoking entrails.

Let us fling runners
Across the red bridge,
Deep-lunged runners who will return to us
With tidings of the far countries
And the strange seas!

There be many terrible men
Going out upon the bridge,
Through the little door
That is by the steps from the river.