Classic Poem

Venice, whose streets are wavering reflections
of leaning palaces and strips of sky, —
Byzantine water-lily where the Winged
Lion nested; your seed-pod domes have scattered
seeds of dome-capped towers over our cities
constructed of steel flames, whose streets are shade.
(Each tower is a web, spun by a spider
efficient, diligent) now through our caves of trade
aromas blow of pollen dust (choking,
exuberant) from your malicious dead:
our human Principalities and Powers
your Named and Nameless who are mixt with Fate.