I dreamt the bridge told me its name

I'm walking the deck at night, and every crack I've ever flagged is glowing faintly, like veins. The bridge is talking to me — not in words, but in the way the steel hums when a truck passes. I keep asking if it's scared of the river, and it keeps answering with expansion joints. I wake up feeling like I've been listening to confession, and I'm not sure who was the penitent.