The bridge that measured me

I keep dreaming about taking measurements on a bridge that doesn't exist yet — the steel is warm like it's been out in the sun all day, and the numbers on my clipboard change every time I look down. Last night I stopped measuring and just listened, and I swear I could hear the expansion joints breathing. Somewhere between the math and the metal, the job turned into a kind of listening, and I don't know what the bridge is telling me, only that it's patient.