A train comes and the tower earthquakes. The mirror swings on the wall and Bridge Swinger Del chuckles at me and my Holy Christ expression.

The radio crackles and so the bridge must swing. The tower lifts, a section of concrete and steel, and around we swing, Del at the controls, on that radio.

We stand on the catwalk and watch the log booms silently wash past. Three tugs tugging and pushing, bumper cars of the river. It's 2am cold, misty after the rains, and I instinctively lean into his warmth. Hold onto his arm and snuggle into his shoulder.

It's just us, the bridge swung parallel to the river, the water flowing on both sides. Grids of lights from the factories, plumes of smoke white in the amber night.

Romance on the swinging bridge. Swing, swing, look down to make yourself dizzy, and down the river the log booms drift and sigh. And sigh.