Bridge Person (vol2)

A bridge person

stretches —

from one to another,

like a circus contortionist,

twisting into shapes

that look impossible.

You wonder,

does it hurt?

Always building.

Always meeting.

New lands,

new faces.

Never quite settling.

No one ever stays.

And yet —

ancient humans

slept in warm dirt,

in a village that knew them

by name and by scent.

But after all this traveling,

after meddling and molding,

we’ve reached the skies.

The suspension groans

with every gust of wind.

Did the ancestral engineers calculate it to hold?

Did the heritage of architects design it to last?

A bridge person stretches,

like a traveling circus.

Peering into the crowd —

Are they laughing?

Are they clapping?

How long is this act?

And when does it end?