The canal, this one, was dug at the turn of the century. Beneath the @3fondamenta@1 are the logs and mud of an incredible handshake. No sharp shadows are left. Buildings, dynamic yet so elusive they might be illusions, in winter light. Space unnatural? Over on the mainland, at Mestre, a redundant green wind, high whipping dresses against things. Cemented drain carries water on down toward the library but not quite that far. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LYDIA (1) by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE SOUTHERN PACIFIC by CARL SANDBURG GO NOW' by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE BROWN GIANT by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 1. AIR by JOHN ARMSTRONG |