Daily Whitman


Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

  What is it then between us?
  What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

  Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not,
  I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,
  I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the
      waters around it,
  I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
  In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,
  In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me,
  I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
  I too had receiv'd identity by my body,
  That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I
      should be of my body.

Posted on 17/09/2014, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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