brooklyn bridge as gravity

“way out; way in; romantic passageway

first seen by the eye of the mind

then by the eye.” - Marianne Moore

It was the first time I ate lunch alone

and didn’t care

sitting on a faded wooden bench

eyes to the gray East river

I looked out and across

my gaze riding along those grandiose nostrils

those heavy brown legs

of familiar permanent transit

I remember walking across its center

its wooden planks

and looking through to the water

as my legs tightened

A space between that pulls you in over and through

I sat with it

like an old friend who has been good to me

An excerpt from my poetry compilation, “My New York”