for VeneziaMy mind has become crowded with Venice:Its streets spoke out through my skull,(I'm sure you can see)Labyrinthing prayersIn passageways shadowed between windowed stoneworkWhose terminus is often in water, where echoes die.I've no gondola to send them onPast the quiet, past the lattices, past the forgetfulnessWhich requires that I retraceCurves to the square.Beside me always the hassle, always the hustle,Wheeling, ranting, raving, colors of clothsClever silk-spun and lacemaker's snares,Piano's plunk across the piazza,Glint, glance, gilt and gleam of glass,Multitudes melded to a melancholy Murano, corner to wall:T