about bridges

i want to continue writing about bridges.  there has already been a number written 
not yet strung into a narrative 

an arch that, too, is a bridge itself.
road to leaving and going and returning.  

a passing through the timeless times
of day:  sunrise and sunset 
simultaneous end and beginning.

this small city has too many bridges
steel, cold, restrained.  letting you
                                                                                leave and then calling you back to stay.