I cross that bridge 5 days a week
Early in the morning
And late at night
And when I’m going over it
I focus my peripherals
On the sky
Sometimes it’s so blue
Sometimes it’s foggy
Sometimes I can see miles and miles
I imagine that I’m crossing the bridge into the Florida keys
Or that I’m entering the beginning of a California byway
It may even be into a new world with noone beside me
Or a bridge leading up to a mountain that I’m discovering.
And not a bridge- crossing moment do I imagine where I’m really going.
It’s only when I get over it that I remember I have a job to do.
And have to get to a place far away from my dreams.