From the Brooklyn Side

From the Brooklyn Side

The dusk climbed behind me

as motorists and pedestrians

moved steadily west and east

across the Williamsburg Bridge.

They traversed the grey steel,

above the flood and ebb-tides,

in a ritual as old as the city.

Below, the East River roiled;

a rough mix from the tail waters

of Harlem and the Bronx Kill.

From the apex of the bridge

I watched the sun burn down

the Manhattan skyline and

slowly drown in the Hudson.

I recalled the Whitman poem

Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

and felt the ties between us.  

In the distance, the gray walls

of granite and glass loomed;

today, as they will tomorrow,

and a hundred years hence.

SMG

From the Brooklyn Side

From the Brooklyn Side

The dusk climbed behind me
as motorists and pedestrians
moved steadily west and east
across the Williamsburg Bridge.
They traversed the grey steel
in a ritual as old as the city.

Below, the East River roiled;
a rough mix from the tail waters
of Harlem and the Bronx Kill.

From the apex of the bridge
I watched as the sun burned
down the Manhattan skyline,
then drown in the Hudson,
and I thought about Whitman’s
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry.

Spread out in the distance,
like a living mural, New York
waited for my color and brush.

SMG

Photo by Gavin O'Neil and I hope he does not get mad because this picture was the inspiration.