Cleaned up: (and note, easier to read, not necessarily better)
Acrossing the Hamilton Fish toward Beacon, a beige bridge spanspanning the great Hudson like the byzantine skeleton of a ginormous whale, and seeing as how Hamilton has become a metaphor resurrected for our golden hip hop age and all. I watched a V of geese fly just over the top of the river, toward the shore. (Q. Why is one side of the V longer? A. Because it has more birds.) I think to take out my phone, but remember the snow leopard in Walter Mitty that Sean Penn did not capture. I am listening to David Bowie's Blackstar, maybe his greatest album, and the saxophone comes in, that undeniable David Bowie saxophone. And I remember hearing in one of the countless interviews how he started out wanting to become the saxophone player for the Little Richard band. I understand that exactly. So this saxophone solo built up to its messy scattershot climax just as this V of geese hit the shore and scattered the several geese waiting there, in a clash of perfect disharmony. I looked down out of my feet, just then, and saw a rip in the seam of corrugated metal of the bridge. I imagine the bridge unraveling. Hart Crane gyres up from the seams like a gull riding the currents, trawling for fish. One could jump. He jumped. Ugh. A rip in the seam of the bridge, where nature is tearing us apart, and through the hole in the walkway I can see you, perfectly framed, the brown bear atop a tree over 100 feet below me, as I near the Beacon side, over the river now, but not quite clear. The little tufts of moss around the mouth of the Hamilton Fish are reaching out into the future, where green is supreme.
See the bear? Bear was originally a mistranslation of "bare" by voice recognition software, but look, there really is one!