The face of a Quos ego),
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
Bronze the sky, with no
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
And piled up at the base of the columns
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
And the wide arrowhead the road itself
By the design of our own silent eyes
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,