The highway wound up
to the riverbank in a spiral,
abandoned, echoing sounds of phantom cars,
red and white lights at dusk

Once I'd walked
the fifteen miles to the junction
until the barricades,
and the unknown trail past

Standing at the bridge edge,
kicked loose concrete,
and watched it fall, a mile down,
along the great pillars, decayed
like great redwoods,
the still water underneath
showing the canopy

There I was, sitting atop
one in the center, cross legged,
with the wind pouring over,
expanse, overcast,
watching red and white lights

The water would bind you
into the eddy beneath,
the current endlessly holding you under.
The bridge had stood there forever,
rusted, overgrown, half underwater,
never having been built.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.