While the sun rolled around the earth,
roots spread out their limbs,
And wandered around the woods.

A few men found the straying roots,
and guided them through the pipeline of time.

Through these channels they grew,
Until one day they kissed the other side of the river,
and made love to the forest floor once again.

In between, they twisted each other,
pulled each other’s arms,
and rolled among themselves in orgies.

Now years and decades of labour have borne fruit,
And I stand tall on the works of men that have come before me.

sturdier after being stretched,
Form bridges between two faces of the forest.

Perhaps they say something universal about bridges.

That perhaps the ends can only be strongly entrenched
when the middle has been pulled
with uncompromising steel
between the future and the past.

When time is swallowed by waiting, by growing,
by letting go of safety,
and jumping headlong into tunnels,
and never turning back.