Member-only story
Venice
A poem
The city of Venice is sinking,
stone steps submerged and mossy
at the edge of a canal--
all these canted angles
of buildings leaning their roofs
close enough to kiss the neighbors
between open windows.
Every square foot covered with rock,
bright reflecting sun, blinding
while the bells peal from their towers,
signaling even more hours
lost to these frivolous pursuits
of leather and lackluster foods,
pasta soaked in squid ink,
tart olives and capers.
All of this borrowed time wasted,
never enough moments
attempting to stitch every sensation
like an unruly thread
uneven in its weaving
of happiness to happiness,
the gondola ride across the night
and its cool air gliding the currents
of red and green light
rocking in the trapezoidal splashes
of water broken by the oars,
I'm here with my love
while back home they're preparing
a funeral for a friend
I barely even knew.
