“the bridge remembers” — Wong May

To the forgotten dead, the unhonored,
silent; to those still with untamed passion,

the mad ones, those still in love with the word;
to those never buried, without coffin,

gravestone or name. Come, your lover calls you.
Come, I remember your name. My lovers

number in the millions because those who
take so much pride in race and ancestors

are the worst caring for them. So I call
and call. Some hear. Some answer. Abandoned

is a curse. Come home, love, come. I have love
enough for us all. My bed is nightfall,

my kiss is the moon. Come, don’t be frightened;
wolf and child, mother and calf, kite and dove.