I have been to places
many times
so far
from where I am.

To music's notes
and poet's rhyme
inside the heads
of other men.

To fantasy so far away
from life's reality.
To fantasy
I make tomorrow's day.

To times of harmony
so few, with all
the world around
so close.

To times where life
and fantasy
have blurry edges,
misty light.

I have been to places
many times
so far
from where I am.

Bridges,
Thirteen bridges to the sea;
Thirteen bridges to be free.

Look across young lady
to where the brig lies tied,
where tattered remnants of a foresail flap
with broken spars and timbers cracked;
Tell sixty years of tales,
both sad and glad.

You but begin your voyage
to the sea,
amidst the clang and clatter of the cranes;
sand blast hiss and rust
to color once white decks.

Now comes your crew
with camera, clothes
and all the other bags unseen,
and so much larger
than the first.

Now go and watch
thru thirteen bridges to the sea.
It's all told here
along the docks and wharves;
some new, some old and bent,
among the small black tugs and working boats
and homebuilt dreams of oceans
now resting in the mud.

Remember well these docks
where tides
and expectations
fall and rise ten thousand times
and so the cycle goes.

Now leave the brig,
the smell of cooking meat,
of traps stacked high to dry.
Remember her
for you are linked
as all of us must be.

And go
through bridges.
Thirteen bridges to the sea
Thirteen bridges to be free.