Driving To Camden, New Jersey

The Whitman Bridge, stretched across
The City, then, in Full
And turning back from Tri-State terms
A nagging sort of pull
No, not quite yet, not quite done
A few more miles yet
And, of course, Philadelphia
A morning silhouette

The jostling sound of tire treads
The collage of colored plates
Dappled by the Shadowed bridge
The interplay of States
A fire burns in some City-home
A sparrow looks to land
Miles marked and miles measured
As a character o man

And poetry, oh not quite yet,
The Philadelphia spread
Riding back and seeing last
What lies there, up ahead
And not yet, still, the gulls cry out
The road uneven now
Scanning cars and scanning faces
We sit, yet, headed South

And how Whitman praised, well held within
The truth, to constant seek
Not a Philadelphia morning sought
Or this once-even paving street
Nor sparrows, gulls, yet iron ships
The Rivers lapping soft
Borders drawn out carefully
And easy, yet, to cross

Where once, and the symbolism still
Still yet, they intertwined
This River-view, that may have been
Yet then, even, brought to mind
But times and all have changed the Heart
And meanings, all the same
The mind of man and crying birds
Yet, it still is more again

History has yet to force a view
On what is held right here
But oh, not quite, oh not quite
The morning hazes clear
And that humming anthem held within
Far still, but a feeling in its own
The casting shadow of the Bridge
And that allusion still held out

The tradition of diners, men, and more
All Cities yet the same
But not quite yet, closer still
Those varied, colored plates
And history, a ship-yard dream
Young-bred Scottish child
The song of tread and city-breaking
The gentle sound of miles

And cities born of dreams and such
Long time passed and tho'
It is not quite there, almost seeming
A poorly up-kept road
But the sparrows migrate off the farms
The doves on wire lines
Philadelphia, as Richmond then,
As there...riding behind