Street in Agrigentum There is still the wind that I rememberfiring the manes of horses, racing,slanting, across the plains,the wind that stains and scours the sandstone, and the heart of gloomy columns, telamons,overthrown in the grass. Spirit of the ancients, grey with rancour, return on the wind,breathe in that feather-light mossthat covers those giants, hurled …
