Half-built, the bridge support was a solid frame bracing tapered arms to sling a fragment of roadway slowly rocking in a wind. I walked under it and looked up into the up-reaching arch, the slab rocking over me like the belly of a dragon. I walked away from it, and looking back in the deep blue twilight at it, it resembled the slide in which a sewing machine needle pumps up and down in a blur of mechanical speed.

Something reached this far, and no farther; something freeze into a black outline in the night-encroaching sky, stitching itself, the darkening vista and my eyesight into this one instant--more than its content, but its entire actual being itself; this built moment the foundation for the next half-built walk back home.

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.