That bridge was a New York watershed
for Crane, an image both private
and public that determined his legacy.
Watersheds are like that. They stem
from images so ordinary, so likely
to be dismissed by others,
so random in the scheme things.
Until the pen pulls them out
of the riffraff of sights and sounds,
the bell jar that separates their sample
for closer examination, the probe
of penciled dissection and brooding.