like opening lines of when lilacs last in the door yard bloomed., kid the same guy, that same unnaturally modern guy writing about brooklyn, writing abut taking the ferry home to brooklyn in years before they took the brooklyn bridge. writing about the ferry. writing about being able to see from here to there not just in space but in time. whitman's genius was the way he saw from where he was in the 1850s and 1860s ahead in time to where we are now. in a way we recognize it when we read his word about us. despite how long ago they were written. on the ferry boats. hundreds and hundreds that cross returning home. are more curious to me than you suppose. and you that shall cross from shore to shore, years hence, are more to me and more in my meditations than you might suppose. walt whitman meditating on us, right? pressing his face up against the glass of time. and seeing, or claiming to see, or imagining to see us. us, 150 years later. way over here. hi, walt. today in new york city, and around the country, in shanksville, pennsylvania, at the penta