Venice

I don’t love cities,

but I entered Venice —

in a speedboat not a gondola —

and the sun on the water sang.

In the great buildings 

along the canals 

the soft-coloured stone 

seemed to breathe.

A man in black created 

toys of coloured glass,

taking a murky lump from the fire

in tongs, and twisting it bright.

Cobbled lanes 

one person wide

brought me face to face

with windows of carnival masks.

In a vast room covered in art

were paintings by Paul Veronese

who became an Ascended Master,

surprisingly pastel and pretty.

The Bridge of Sighs 

was a covered walkway.

Sadness lingered still

in the cells on the other side.

San Marco was slightly awash.

Decades earlier my friend wrote a poem

on ‘the tesselated tiles of San Marco’.

I sent her a postcard saying I was there.

My foster-son

who was living in Modena then

was an enthusiastic guide,

beaming and telling the stories.

In the centre of Venice there are

no cars, no cars, no cars.

Think of an inner city 

without any cars!

Cities are places 

I do not love. 

But when I think of Venice

my heart surges with song.

Prompted by 'Going Urban' at dVerse.