I thought I knew you, once. Brightly adorned, you could save the world in an evening or even Indians from themselves. Yet, now you are the child accused of murder Standing naked upon the 13th floor in New York, tell me, from that roof do you still see the boats upon shining blue Hudsons, those newer spires of Brooklyn, the lives of a struggling empire, fantastic invention, Do you apprehend with Whitman's eyes, America? From "Poems of the Infinite Dream-America" Copyright 1993 T. Byron K.