Bridges

Here is an aspect of New York
The majestic city
On 153 St
Where heaven and earth come together
In six lane highways that never sleep
And graveyards
Where once people sleep forever
Where the most marvelous bridges
Span the most magnificent river
And a tiny lighthouse
Sits dwarfed beneath miraculous towers
Staring forever at the flowing Hudson
The boats at night
Illuminated beneath the beloved bridge
A miracle of correspondence
Uniter of states, of families
And regal palisades

Ancient gravestones sunk into soil
Reflect the moon on all Manhattan
The fish beneath the water
The fallen
Paintings brought home
From junkyards in France
Carvings and cravings
The expression of Africans
Books and bottles
Darkness and light
Consumed and consuming
Eternal, finite, beloved island
 
Home of the Weckquaesgeeks
Dancers and fish spearers
Nomadic hunters
Camped on the river
Making kettles of bark
In their canoes
Sacred Algonquin island
Decimated entirely in a holocaust
Wrought by greedy, armed, sick
Mercenaries and missionaries
Their sachem taken captive
Negotiates a treaty of peace
And the island is bought
From those who do not own it.
 
Generations and centuries flow by
And people live here still   
Want to live here
In the millions
The soil good
The rivers rich
The hunting blessed
There are magnificent bridges
To what is known
And shall never be known
Where heaven and earth come together
In six lane highways
Along the river