Walking through Venice last night, channels

spilling over in the storm, flooding alleys

we walked on raised platforms, arthritic

wooden tables laid across the stones

Your head brushing against hanging lights,

burning shadows into your face

and we were like

the eyeless venetian masks lined in glitter,

your not-eyes tied with fringe to mine,

a glass of wine you hated

and an ocean in my borrowed boot later.

And I kept thinking that the birds

were drowning in their stone nooks while

that man, full of wine, danced barefoot in

the misplaced river and laughed steam

through the gaps in his teeth.