When I first saw the famous bridge
Of Brooklyn in an early picture
I was surprised to find the ruins
Of an old cathedral stone
By stone carried over from
The old country to reconstruct
Or subtly evoke a lost
Sense of the divine that river
Before these bridges pinned
It down the flying Hudson
And then to walk across it
As if inside an enormous harp
And to be casual about it
As if it was nothing to be carried over
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