Span

The night is serene. The rumble is far away. It is deep and rolling, behind the quiet city. The volume does not increase. It is far away.

The young man looks across to the bridge and sees it stand. There is no traffic and there are few lights. It is late and against the dark sky the bridge offers little detail. It stands as it always stands. The young man knows the distance to the bridge.

You stand in the serene night and calculate. Deep, in the distance, the unrest rolls slowly. The low sound always reaches you. It is constant. You sometimes imagine it changes. On occasion, it seems quite close. You stand and calculate. It is dark and you do not notice any unrest.

Each time he views the bridge, the young man has the same thoughts. He walks onto the bridge and stands at its highest point. He attends the view from there. The wind pushes at him. He sees the dirt and soot on the steelwork and feels it rough and cold beneath his forearms. He leans forward into the view of the city. He imagines and it means nothing to him. He never has occasion to cross.

The sound is low and distant. You hear it, deep and far away. It means nothing to you. You simply hear it. You observe and calculate the beginnings of actions. You begin things. The low sound never alters anything you do.

The young man sees the bridge as always. He knows his position and he feels correct. He recognizes the lines of the bridge. He recognizes them and makes no judgements. He is in position and gazes at the bridge. He stands and he cannot hold his place. The night turns the young man to walk back. He considers the routes available. Each time, he returns the same way.

It is as always. You walk in the night and from behind the quiet city you hear the rumble. Everything is correct. You continue as always. The night is dark and serene. You see very little.

The young man walks from the bridge. He knows each step. He knows the distance from the bridge. He knows the distance to where he lives. The bridge never changes. It stands as he imagines it, as he leans forward into the view of the city from the highest point of the bridge.

It is fall. The leaves are everywhere. You are surprised. You cannot recall an impression of the growing foliage. You are surprised by the brush of the leaves at your feet. The sound irritates you. It disturbs the low, deep rumble and seems to make it louder. You walk and the night is dark. Your thoughts are as always. It is fall and the nights are more cool.

The distance never changes. The bridge is out of sight and the young man cannot see his destination. He walks in the night and slowly everything begins to lean against him. He feels a wind push against him. The young man can no longer see the bridge. He can recall its lines. He can recall the distance. He is en route. He knows where he walks. Some leaves toss under his steps. The night is cool. It is late in the year.

You are alone and you feel cheated. It is about two miles to where you live. You decide to walk the distance. The night is dark and windy. The street seems uneven. It is difficult for you to walk straightly. There are few vehicles. You see no one. Up ahead, the light of a telephone booth pulls and you reach into your pocket and you check for silver.

The young man walks and his impression of the bridge slowly falls back into the dark behind him. It means nothing to him. His mind is set on his route. As he nears his destination he walks faster. The bridge is a thin outline. It stands in the dark behind the young man. It becomes dim in the distance. He walks more and more quickly.

Everything in the night is loud. Everything seems to run into your ears. You are alone and you feel cheated. You walk past the telephone booth. As you leave behind its small light you slowly realize what it is you want. And you curse. You see your actions being cast. They float like spawn in a pool. You curse because you are alone and you feel cheated. It is late. It is difficult to walk. In the distance, unrest seems to build. You curse because you believe nothing is true.

Up ahead, the street is empty and dark. It travels directly into a dark building. The building is old and its silhouette spire seems wrong in the night. It seems oddly ornate and does not register as anything of particular value. The young man sees the building each night as he walks back from the bridge. It means nothing to him.

You rest and you sleep and the rumble continues. It is always low. It offers no truth. On occasion, you imagine it becoming louder and closer. You believe it could break open and ravage all that is around you. You rest and you sleep and from the darkness comes the slight outline of a face. It races toward you and before it disappears its close and greasy sheen shocks you. And, from nowhere, a massive blow strikes you. You cry out in your sleep.

The young man stands at the bridge and never feels the weather. The night is always serene. He stares at the bridge. As he stands, the night blackens. The night makes him blind. It turns him from the view. Each time he stares at the bridge, he sees it as always. He believes it is durable. As long as he holds it in sight, he senses a truth about his position. The night is dark. He can only imagine himself on the bridge. He imagines his footsteps sounding through the quiet beneath the span. And the night turns him back. And each time, the bridge crumbles in the dark behind him. His thoughts change.

You sleep and the rumble continues. You stare into the darkness and it comes again. A glint from afar moves closer and, in an instant, is so bright that you cry out. You duck into the dark below. You strike wildly into the black. From afar it comes again. You are on the dark street, a small light falls on a face. You recognize a line in the dark features. It is someone you know. You sleep and you dream. And again and again a small light from afar moves closer and the blow comes and you cry out.

There is nothing to cause the young man to walk across. He waits and is quiet. He calculates the distance to the bridge. It is late. He stands alone and stares. Nothing is confusing. The night is serene. His position is resolute. It is a position from which the young man can will almost anything. He can judge almost anything. The night is serene and turns him back. He can never remain.

A car slowly passes you. You walk as straightly as you are able. Up ahead, the tail lights move slowly along the narrowing street. It is quiet. You walk past the park. Deep, behind the trees, you hear the low rumble. It is constant. As you walk, your eyesight dims. Your eyes are failing. Only the slightest glint of line allows you to determine location. You estimate long dark distance. It is difficult to walk. You concentrate on remaining upright. You crouch into direction.

The young man stands, as always, and looks across to the bridge. He determines his position. Each time he leaves, he fears being unable to return. He stands and gazes across. He imagines himself, leaning out over the city. The young man knows the distance and listens to the low and constant sound. The night is serene. He imagines himself on the bridge. A small amount of light cuts across his face as he looks back over the city. And each time, the night makes his eyes dim and he returns. He walks the distance to where he lives.

You often lose track. You often forget things. On occasion an outline remains, an impression you cast and eventually forget. On occasion, you walk in the serene night until it is very late. It seems the night becomes more black. As you walk, you curse all that you cannot see.

Nothing is recognizable to the young man as he leaves the bridge. He measures nothing. He concentrates on the lines of the bridge. Its truss aligns his thoughts. He can measure nothing against it. He can only notice more and more features in the dark. It becomes more difficult to concentrate. He slowly becomes afraid. There is no wind. The light lines of the bridge grow dim. He knows the distance. He walks the same route each time he leaves the bridge. It is quiet. It is, as always, the fast pace, flat against the low sound.

On occasion, you walk in the dark and you curse everything you cannot see. You denounce everything. You strike out in your sleep. You are blind in the night. You spill the blood of everyone. You tear your thoughts into colourless strips. You have nothing. You stop and stand. It is dark. You calculate. You note the beginnings. You do not anticipate anything. It is quiet and in the distance the low rumble can affect nothing you determine.

1981