At this age, spectacles sit precariously,
the bridge of my nose their perch.
Magnify life’s past,
forks in the road, hillsides with ruts
sea side suns and city life,
so many bridges forged.
Looking ahead, the distance is less.
Tread slowly the tunnel etched on the map,
transition away from and into the dark.
Or seek light, transition forward
cross o’er the bridge and soar slowly,
glide through the transom and savor the view.
Photos of Zakim Bridge in Boston, MA. Poem motivated by Daily Post Photo Challenge: Transition. Bridges, of many kinds, transition us from place to place.
lillian the home poet 
The bridge looks like a giant wishbone, or as you so eloquently compare it to, the bridge between two glass lenses and the connection between past and present. 🙂
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It’s lit up at night – an iconic image for Boston. So glad you enjoyed the “layers” of the poem and its meaning.
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I did! It’s excellently done.
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