Water Watchers 3: The Hudson

My snot frosts my wool scarf
and you shelter in my shadow.
Wind roars down the fjord-sides.
Snow curls over the wrecked-up ice below.
We take turns kicking chunks of sidewalk
ice to watch them drift and drop.
Our height is felt when the chunks fall
further than our eyes thought.

I just recalled, we had also crossed
in Catskill late last summer.
Around where Cole saw the glow,
and Van Winkle heard the thunder.
Back when we tried that winery
and got god-awful service.
"We corked our bottles, 
you gotta go." Okay sure, Miss. 

On our way back across we sipped
our contraband cans of cider,
hid them in our pockets and felt
the buzz of attraction. Spider
gauze floated down on river wind,
glowing. My thoughts drift freely
again to the March before.
To the roaring eight-lane Tappan Zee

we took my parents to for a walk.
The path of painted blue concrete
wore hard on our feet. The squall
of traffic sustained no defeat
for the entire drizzling hike. "The human
element, here, is an afterthought."
you remarked on the ride home.
I guess that's why we sought

out this more welcoming crossing. No cars,
just a footpath alone over the Hudson.
It’s pretty nice besides the sub-zero
windchill biting the blood in
our cheeks. "We'll have to come again next
Spring!" I shout towards the wrecked-up
ice. "You're obsessed with bridges!"
you shout back, squeezing your cupped

hands in my coat pocket. I don't know
what it is about crossing a river
on foot. On one interpretive plaque,
a harnessed man fastens rivets
into steel beams three-hundred feet above
the water, in black-and-white.
Maybe I like standing on the shoulders
of these giants — being afraid of heights.

Maybe I enjoy a little adrenaline rush —
contained by well-built guardrails.
Death could fall a foot away,
but someone with actual guts nailed
the foundation down for us to take
our afternoon stroll across. 
Maybe I'm not accustomed to crossing
on my own two feet — getting lost

is difficult in a car seat, and even
more difficult on a bridge,
even with full pedestrian autonomy.
Or maybe it's one slightly intrepid
way to be together, braving the cold.
“Awake, O sleeper, I sing!”
I sing, even if our day’s adventure
is just us walking.