Crossings

Designer's concrete, spanning half a mile,
a rugged structure made of local trees,
a row of greenish boulders, stepping stones,
or twisted fibers, swaying in the breeze:

a bridge, a permanence, a fitted passage,
a means to navigate deep rifts or streams,
a way to reach the side where I am wanted,
a path that just might lead me to my dreams,

encompassing both ends. Once on, I may
look down and watch the water seethe and churn,
enjoy the scenery and bracing air
and wonder what on crossing I will learn

or if perhaps it's better to return
and think again, and reassess my aim,
and wander to a different compass point:
all bridges have in common is their name

and I might meet a roadblock on the way,
unsmiling uniforms and grimy guns,
a fire may leave but charred and broken posts,
smooth stones could tip me where the water runs,

neglect and rain eventually cause
the ropes to come apart with wear and tear...
My bridges burnt, I'll find life's other side
not quite the the Eden I expected there.