#547. swansong

July 18, 2012

what was that song
or any of the songs you wrote and played with sad joy
the strings of your guitar still vibrate in me although
why you gave it up is an unknown tragedy
i know like i know my finger burns
when i hold it in the flame
of a burning candle
that friendship
and our adventure
our lives and love
still vibrates

you couldnt have a child
and so it goes you said in pain
and resignation and so i
named my only son
for you

and in this moment the moon behind low clouds drifts over the brooklyn bridge

with fragile stone
people are hurrying
scurrying raindrops home
but i am on a walk to walk over
the brooklyn bridge to smell the sea
and hear poetry and to sing with the poets
all the ayes all the masts intertwined with cables
steel gray sky breathing with us as we amble and stride
strive to hear the music the words the horn of the ferries bright
beyond the underneath the promenade still stands fast greenheart
of the fragile forest




over the river

i become

the forest

over the river

i become

and go


#489. a glimpse

November 29, 2011

the day
has twisted
my thoughts into tempests
thwarted desires
lead me to the foot
of the bridge
my stone
is worn smooth
by the quiet noise
of the Endless

quiet walk
alone in the chatter
of unusually happy poets
i love you brooklyn bridge from high
and low beneath me an ancient schooner
casts off her lines and stands out to blue sea

the cables thrummmm and i have become unstuck in time



#400. two sides of winter

October 4, 2010

the first tree has turned
the city goes autumn
catches the wind
the rain sweeps
the plaza
my eyes
follow one high
the bridge flying
in the mist anchors
the future spring beyond

#288. horizon

June 9, 2010

age is my ever changing adventure
confusing my words deep in the night
the impatient slap and surge of the east
river’s musical journey through the arches
of brooklyn bridge helps me to sweet sleep

#286. walk back

June 7, 2010

razor life never changes
fear on the edge of shadows
behind the concrete barriers
under the ramp of brooklyn
bridge a small fire across time
gathers several spirit shapes
flickering made large across time
the bottom never changes

summer calm
breathe the night
ship horn’s low voice
under brooklyn bridge
with the storm charged
to thunder and all of us on
shore ready to make love or
yell or smoke or dance all night
to rythms never the same away
from the east river

even the ghosts
above the cafe haunt
us to the low pungent beat
with lavender fumes and gouges
in the bar from the working girls and fishhooks

#240. grey wing

April 22, 2010

my long
day following
the flight of a gull
from the balcony railing
wheeling past a thousand
blind windows riding the spring
wind with wings fully outstretched
quavering catching the updraft sailing
over the east river beyond the high towers
of the brooklyn bridge out of sight i feel again

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