That might be Vico and his bicycle rounding the range . if not then why not the alleyway of sunlight dappling . This wasn't the place was it now? She might be on you boyo over the path near the plinth. Its reckoning come sung home.
At Calais the forts are nothing left. In Ireland the hoboes are left to rustle leaves pack jackets and ring the tinkers bell. Applause apple sauce and the dappled air of sing sang sung.