Three Bridges Building
- — August 1, 2010
Give me a building
with the right name,
a wooden storefront
with an apartment upstairs,
gold-leaf letters on glass
over the entry door
understated, like a scarf
perfectly tied.
When Pacey returns,
I could leave Three Bridges Building
in a note, a place to meet,
and the single concrete bridge
to keep us counting ways
over the gully where stolen bicycles
and city deer lie in silence.
If she returns,
we could rendezvous
like pals after paper routes,
measure time by daylight,
by what we do and when it’s done.
No one will be late,
first to arrive waits at the rail
to watch the gully trail twist
through blackberry and alder
descending three miles north
to Old Town and sea level.
