On restoration of an 1895 one-lane span in Canton, Connecticut
Entering a cat’s cradle of iron trusses
arcing high above the river,
connecting bank to bank,
I step on the brakes as the road
narrows to a one-lane blacktop.
Slowed to a walk,
I roll down windows, taste
the Farmington’s moist breath,
hear winging geese above, children
splashing in shallows below.
Framed by metal fretwork,
the slatey water threads among green
hills freckled with houses,
and I imagine thousands of eyes
savoring this view over three centuries.
On routine commutes to work,
errands to grocery or hardware,
on a ride to family and friends,
this enchanted geometry
spans both space and time.
Town Bridge is a rite of passage,
my each crossing a portal
to an elongated, elastic instant
that says home, a moment safekept
in the heart’s secret locket.
