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...
Walt Whitman
my heart is constricted, i can't breathe, i am back in Brooklyn.
i've missed the salty air, the quickened pace, the beautiful people,
the winks and smiles while rounding lips sound out vowels heard nowhere else.
my heart lifts and hangs heavy in rhythm with the Narrows.
i love you...i REPEAT--i love you, but alas, i can't stay.
the last week has been one of many important conclusions,
but they'll remain quietly ours.
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