Two bridges rise from the Hudson today,
calm after the wind and snow of the day
before. Knowing the way water remembers
they go on when the river ends — over
soil rich with memory’s leavings. They
settle above the line of a hundred year
flood. The one intended to survive an
unthinkable war has turned to consider
the rust red other imagining a train
it will not stop believing the last word
long after crowds have learned to begin
every journey without putting a foot down,
to cross rivers wider than this without once
touching the ground. No track. No sound. No trace.