. . .
When you first see Venice shimmering
in the sun, it is a city walking on water.
Your first inclination demands you weep
and if heaven is a more endless sight
then only those with broken hearts may enter.
The complexion of angels,
rose-strewn and blood-dried, the walls.
Arched bridges wanton, drape themselves
like artists models over the water streets
and as sirens, they draw your worn soul
I have waited on your tempered, wet streets
searched your bazaars cold, shaded grey.
I have climbed your steep, paved bridges
stood repentant in study of saintly churches.
Absolved, atoned, purged – in love’s blush.