Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky’s acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud flown derricks turn …
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.

—Hart Crane, from “The Bridge: To Brooklyn Bridge”

Read more here and join in celebrating Brooklyn Bridge with Crane’s poem Sunday, May 19. (via poetrysince1912)

if I had only these 4 lines I would still vow my life to reading this man’s entire opus of poetry. A kindred spirit. Astonishing.

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