From Brooklyn

 

Along the shore
A black net of branches
Tangles the pulpy yellow lamps.
The shell-colored sky is lustrous with the fading sun.
Across the river Manhattan floats–
Dim gardens of fire–
And rushing invisible toward me through the fog,
A hurricane of faces.

 

Evelyn Scott (1893-1963), from “Precipitations”, 1920

 

 

 

 

 

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