Bridges To get across a life, it's bridges we build, span the daylight of our waking days with alliances, compromises, negotiate our walking routes, cut avenues through the undergrowth. These hours are lush like vegetation, alive and drinking the succulent rains that swell the raging rapids of desire, the swirl and boil of racing, constant hearts. These bridges can be made of ancient stone, a huge suspension wrought of iron and steel or merely a plank placed across a stream. All have two purposes; to set us free, so we can feel the joy of coming home.
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