I cross the railroad trestle high above the valley's floor.
I'm acting irresponsibly, as those who pass in cars
Below would tell me, if they got the chance.  They
Don't.  They're right.  A train could come, and I'd
Be trapped, most likely killed, and my death would
Be counted as a loss for some, though not too many.
I'd exist in two dimensions, in a frame, on someone's
Mantle, fading slowly, but not aging.  Relatives
Might look up at my photograph from time to time,
And, if I'm lucky, it would lead them to think pleasant
Thoughts of me, though, in the end, they'd shake
Their heads and say I was a fool.