Crossing the Bridge: A Poem


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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.


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