How should I now recall …
William Logan
What did they desire, the dead who had returned? …
In their excess, their blowsy dreaming …
Like columns of mist …
The ship at anchor wasn’t what it seemed— …
The lift, the very lift and pull of it! …
The leaves had fallen in that sullen place, …
Along the campo, Manin’s bronze winged lion prowled …
That oily bale of rags, lost …
The city humid, the church rusty and Baroque, and the directions appalling, …