Molten gold seeps underground,
late summer vapors taper up,
a glowing bridge paints and repaints
the sky and the river two-tone blue.
A Trinity and a Spirit at either side
according to gender sanctified,
host oddly assembled roaming bands
of aliens striving to fit in
and snobs from here who don't give in.
The bridges link the city's halves,
as two communities drift apart,
breathing beauty-laden air,
in Renaissance obsessed despair.
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