I recently dreamt about Joseph Campbell, who died in 1987. It was twilight and he was standing on a bridge over a small dark river. I walked towards him, and felt his need to connect with me. We met in the middle of the bridge, and he held my hand as we looked down into the dark, still water. I dropped a scroll into the water, and when I said "Here's a log in the Liffey, for James Joyce," he seemed comforted, and faded away back into the woods on the other side. This prose poem is my log in the Liffey, an offering of remembrance for those two remarkable, creative men.