Walt Whitman and His Bridge

Slate clean — I lived for another day.
See those flowers over there?
See how nothing gets in?
See how it all hangs?

I went seeking my body, and found yours.
Thunderclaps,
me to you,

and sunspots in the dead of night —
northern lights to read each other by.

Those flowers go forth
across the green field,
    |
~  | ~~ across the snakely Delaware ~~~
    |
honey clocks
chiming grass, peals of bees —
this swatch of land, their mother — 
this slice of day, 
their birth —
and just like for us,
arriving, finally,
with not one more
velvet second 
to spare.