Bridge, you are beautiful.
I know not where you lead, nor from whence you come
But I have the sense that you could take me places.
Or at the very least, that you could connect me from here to there
With very little effort whatsoever.
I detect that, perhaps, in the confidence of your wood, in its gentle slope and rise,
Its weathered nature a tribute to your strength.
You look not trod upon, though I'm sure you could tell many a story.
Or perhaps I glean this knowledge from your rails. They look resolute, and precise.
Aesthetic protectors from trips, falls, and slips
and other misguided errors in judgment.
And while the beauty on the other side is unmistakable
And I am tempted to say that it is that very beauty that I seek
I have a hunch that the real grace lies in what cannot be seen
In the story that has led me to your beginning
Which is no doubt someone else's amazing end
Which connects us from one to the other
Two points, one line like a circle
From me to you
And you to me
On a bridge from here to there.