walking home from school,
I'd stop in the middle
of the 4th Street Bridge
to peer over the round railing
into the brown roll of Black River
coming at me like vertigo.
The perpetual motion
of the water, combined
with the peculiar slant of bridge
created something off balance,
unsettled, exacerbated
by traffic behind, and wind
through the valley.
On some days
in small moments anyway,
when conditions were just right,
like Friday afternoon or
the last day of school before summer
it felt like everything was possible,
like no one else was was around.
It felt like flight.
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