Like a bridge, expanding, long,
holding tightly to the valley sides.
A formula of stone and sand. Rigid with
support, flexible for passage.
To some, it is the middle of hope.
The way out or back.
A long finger of steel and cables pointing
to or away.
Either direction of passage is a handrail
of thoughts; dream faces of stars and
slivered pieces of moon.
The undertow of traffic and feet
pound out the desire to travel.
Roger Singer 