Poem for the Arch Bridge

I always liked you better than
your brother there, the 205-- he's younger,
bigger, faster, but too high and mighty
to let passing motorists admire the ebru swirls of foam
trailing down from the falls, or watch the couple with the Lab
playing down in the rip-rap.

Today the river's quiet at your feet,
unswollen by the first rains of fall. But I remember
when flood had swallowed the falls nearly to the top
and you stood, thrumming gently
amid all that liquid violence, rooted deep and solid.

Today, remade so new
you smell of fresh concrete, staples still protruding
from the railing-- today
you carry throngs of admirers from shore to shore,
from past to future.

It's always been a bridge's job, not just to pass over
but to join.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside