“Chill From His Rippling Rest”

brooklyn-bridgefog

Dawn seems to “chill from his rippling rest.” Few experiences are as ethereal as strolling across Brooklyn Bridge on a foggy morning. I did it a few times in my younger, more peripatetic days. While the view is opaque, the atmosphere is surreal; a sense of being suspended in time and space. But you inevitably reach the opposite shore and reality intercedes–unless you’re lucky enough to go on traversing in dreams.

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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