“Chill From His Rippling Rest”

brooklyn-bridgefog

Few experiences are as ethereal as strolling across Brooklyn Bridge on a foggy day. I did it once, many years ago, when I was younger and more poetic. While the view is opaque, the atmosphere is surreal; a sense of being suspended in time and space. That is until you reach the other side, in Brooklyn or Manhattan, and reality kicks in once again; unless you go on dreaming, if you dare, and imagine that reality isn’t there.

Photo Source: Adam Scott

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull‘s wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of tumult, building high Over the chained bay waters Liberty– – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15444#sthash.mPSM5Ual.dpuf

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of tumult, building high Over the chained bay waters Liberty– – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15444#sthash.mPSM5Ual.dpuf

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of tumult, building high Over the chained bay waters Liberty– – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15444#sthash.mPSM5Ual.dpuf

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of tumult, building high Over the chained bay waters Liberty– – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15444#sthash.mPSM5Ual.dpuf
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