Your verse endures
Drunk on the cadences of your forebears,
You show us riches that we cannot keep.
Poet of Brooklyn Bridge,
Hymnographer of the metropolis,
Wrecked over the edge
Of reason's vessel, lured by liquid bliss --
We dare not emulate
Your forays into the divine grotesque,
And yet we ask
A share in your song, dark and intricate.
Accept, we pray, our halting praise of you,
Deep drinker of astonishment and woe.