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Brooklyn Bridge

In mountains beyond mountains,
Finally breaking in new boots,
Canyons by Thor himself damascened
Rest inlaid at their mighty roots.
Crestened o'er airplane wings
The sun with molten smiles hangs,
Beckoning songbirds with destinies
Fulfilling that for which they sang.
Suspended in the angel-less air,
Worked over by slugs of yellow variety,
The ocean strips away all care
And leaves grief to those with piety.
Never one for churches anyway,
A lone mountain man goes trekking,
Crumbling worlds beneath his weight
And rarely his compass checking.

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