One morning after the dance

The gondolier saw the sun dear

Rainbowing God’s summer beam

Among silky pigeons

Up in the blue

Down cool waters they broke

Into smiles

When his gondola gashed

Into waves

Of cinnamon pool –

Spinning voodoo curls like dust

A tiny jewel, his vessel

As it snaked around the half-

Sleeping city where bells chimed

Along his streams lost and cream

There he thought about last night’s dance

When the moon was big and the boys

Were bad. When one youth became

The flute to his musical voyage

The starchy scent of denim

Pawing between

His jagged breath

Like a butcher knifing his meat

To wolf the gold and be its prey

He remembered the joy in his eyes

As Venice littered on his hot cheeks –

Lush and coarse and pretty

One evening sail under the bridge


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