Brooklyn Bridge Park
Walk where the East River touches the edge of Brooklyn’s landing – I’m still here; come.
7th Avenue is too far from water -here it is all blue, metal reflections in murky water, blue sky, blue.
Come. You did it once before.
Please – do you remember me in that red dress, almost thirty? My head rested on your lap, love.
I’m still here, dirt stained knees sinking to earth as in prayer.
I am anticipating your arrival; paddling in the little wake of a police boat.
They aren’t waves; it’s just a wake.