tired, teetering between the tides—still life in Venice

From the airplane window, I caress
     a little fish of stone and cement
     emerging from the lagoon
a bittersweet smile;
so charismatic, nostalgic
drenched in cursed beauty;
a diamond of a fallen republic
     adrift among the waves,
     like a plastic bottle
tired, teetering between the tides.

I step into your heart,
leap from one ventricle to another —
from hotel to Airbnb.
No one cares for you to feel loved;
they want you to be a whore
      at the mercy of their gold,
        to be used, drained,
      until the inevitable collapse.
A ruin, useful as an elegy —
from protagonist to backdrop
to sell paintings or pride.
And in part, I understand you, my dear —
abandoned among the waves, you and I.

I trace the red bench with my fingertips
sink my feet into the canal
      frosted by the fine rain.
Looking for timid white clouds in the distance,
  I abandon my back to your fondamenta
as I once did with my past

I wrap myself in your palaces,
   my silky duvet of salt and stone,
so I can fall asleep certain
   I will wake in a dream.