In September 2020, I visited—

Johnston Street Bridge

four-lane road surging uphill

the thrill of stopping somewhere only visited in motion

wild fennel in the cracks of the pavement

paint splatters

yellow lichen-covered branches

a pigeon carcass

rapid shutter to exhaust surface novelties

over yonder, exposed sediment folds

balustrade vibrating with each vehicle over the joint

the expansion and contraction of concrete

the bending of solid rock

(both taking place right now, under my feet and before my eyes, at imperceptibly slow rates)

sheltering from droplets beneath the bridge

river turgid with the morning downpour

a single paint can floating down the middle

a minute later, a man in a camo-green kayak, pumping his paddle

a rooster crowing in the distance

the continued bah-bump of cars overhead

in the mud, the rubber tread of someone’s shoe

← To mouth
All crossings
To dam →