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Walt Whitman and His Bridge

By Ada Pendill

Illustration by Albert M. Nikhla

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.

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Posted On: August 31, 2024
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