Where shall we find a secure bridge?
Where shall we find a bridge so secure that we can drive over it
and not be distracted
by the knapped shine of the dark river below,
the river we cannot see through concrete rails but which we might see
if we dare stop the car
and look down through the broken concrete of our surfaces.
We might see the river between ledges of concrete
framed by rusting rebar.
But we will not stop.
We may be followed tonight.
We have been followed all day so far and so far.
Ah well.
We know that we will be followed tonight
and that we will still and ever be followed.
Followed.
Followed, we drive.
We drive only as fast as our cracking surfaces allow us.
We drive steady.
We will leave the bridge in time maybe
to leave the car and walk below—
beneath the bridge where we may be secure.
In our breath of security we will lie beneath the bridge.
Before we sleep we will look up into the stars
framed by the rotting concrete and rusting rebar,
and we will pray to dream that we do not see the surface
begin to crumble down,
begin to be trampled
by the machines and boots that will in-
augurate the heartbeat and throb of our new security.
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