Archive
08/17/10 - (2)
One Last Gondola Ride
This pastel-lavender-and-rose August dusk Is a Venetian tapestry we drape delicately over our shoulders, As the gondola that floats us, in near motionless silence, Through twilight's mazy, placid waterways, Scores a romantic nocturne from the motions of our boatman's rèmo.
Seated side by side, hand in hand, cheek to cheek, kissing, We lose ourselves to shadows crisscrossing bridges, Palazzi twinkling with the rapture of this terraqueous fantasy, Rusted iron grates and gates, lacy window tracery — The craziest leap of faith, which tells us we're actually here,
Not back in the States, imagining traveling to the Adriatic, Staying in a hotel facing the Grand Canal. Now, it's nine. Our hour has elapsed. Dusk is black. We step out of the enchanted vessel, relaxed, happy, And head for our restaurant's deck, across from illuminated Salute,
Where, refusing to conclude our entrancing voyage, We watch other beguiled amanti glide, in measureless procession, On liquid reveries they weave, as we did, Into a Venetian tapestry of smooth evening breezes, Until dreams beckon us to board their gondola, one more night.
08/17/10 - (2)
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