Found

There it was, the fogtown bridge,

getting ready to blow its girders

in a night of unforgiving dark,

darkness that welcomed me.

I was a poet

who believed in the many gods

and distrusted the rule of guns
as part of a thought process.

Robbers had struck, and left the train

on full throttle, despite a deadman.

This is when I wrote my first poem

about a river god that rose up

to let a train ride across its back

and reach the other side in safety.

I won't ask you to believe me.

I will ask you to be free.