crossing the bridge

I drive to California
Maryland
crossing over the bridge
from Solomon's island.
it's a narrow crossing,
two lanes going in two
directions.
it arcs high into the blue
grey sky
of December.
I look down into the steel
ribbons of water,
the cork like boats
floating, plowing their
way somewhere.
sails are tight in the wind,
the flags stiff.
I pass over.
eyes straight ahead,
hands on the wheel,
and get to where I've
never been.