Don Henley once said “Sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge”
And I wish bridges never burned and instead remained, open to visitors, edifices to a place where there was a different peace
No railings slithering across for safety, just the moss in bloom, wreaths, reminders of an unfortunate inevitable doom
And in the distant dubious dark dance spangles, close enough to see, too far to know, tempting a trek towards to trudge
Dawn? Hayleys? Vesuvius?
Or just a stranger looking for their place to cross
Or just running from their own burning bridge(s)