The bridge stands at Fort Duquesne,
inviting as heaven's self-same gate.
Waves move upon the Allegheny to the Point,
draw the eyes into a haloed distance.
The sky, a vacant blue, is mesmerizing;
sunlight lies molten on the high curve of the bridge
spilling iridescent to waters calm below.

It would be an easy thing it seems,
to end life in this precious moment
of beauty, grace, and peace:
the restful waters, the golden sunlight span
that beckons to Valhalla.

Then one sees the embattled life-preserver,
its too bright yellow line a dismal snarl
in the protective box: glass broken
In Case of Emergency;
and backing self-consciously away
from the graffitied rail,
moves once more into the main-stream.