I see them, do you?
The oldest from the dead, the youngest from the new.
The trek to the borough unknown, speckled with these.
All tethered to the iron girders supporting the ironwork.
I see them, do you?
100 years hence, still tethered?
Every metal rectangle representing love, marriage, a vow.
They will not fall off.
My children’s children will trek, with a parallelism to me.  
They will be rusty.
The weak, perished.
But you will see them.
Maybe I will lock one on too.
For the world, and you, to see.
Or maybe not.
If I do, I will remove the key and sacrifice it to the river.
That’s the way I like it.