I was once told that I wasn't
afraid of heights, but of being
thrown from them -
& this was a comfort, for
the flaw wasn't in me, per se,
but in my reading of other
people, my trust in their
intentions. Even so, crossing
any bridge was breathing knives.

Then I met you, and we walked
over Taft bridge, the largest
unreinforced concrete structure
in the world, rising above
Rock Creek gorge, 128 feet
above the bright green floor
I feared until you.

We crossed it in style. I was
in the angle of the eagle.
I walked on the backs of lions.
I held light. My eye surveyed
the depths of the glen.
I walked with you by my side
all the way to Dupont,
& when we shared coffee -
I spoke endlessly to comfort
your excess of sun -
I felt a swerve of glory, a sense
of the world that I only shared
with you.