A breeze and the creak and splash of oars
by Donald Rowley
Under pink cliffs of marbled palazzi
And the stillness, even with the oar's sound,
Of bright cupolas and sunburned tiles.
Floating on troubled waters
I watched your shadow
Flicker as the light faded, softening
Cipolin and the harsher tones of wood and stone.
I drew you in my fashion.
My words soared like white birds.
I brought olives and almonds
From green places to delight you
But you were far away
On a side canal of your own making,
Caught between crumbling walls
With a boatman in a flat black hat.
Suddenly you blazed awake
And laughing, touched my hand.
We had come to the Grand Canal.