Italian skies
serenade me through the open window,
attempting to stitch me up,
to which I
smile.
I gaze out down below them.
Brick terraces tower
over weaving paths that
snake through the intricate maze
that is San Marco.
The cobble on the floors
reaches out its cold, stone fingers
in longing for the azure dome above.
Not a cloud can be seen,
nor a plane,
nor a star.
We all rest on the brink of day,
not quite asleep and
not quite awake.
07-08/2014
Venice