Suddenly, you hear the invisible terrace above,
the drops running down the roof tiles,
maybe deep into cracks which reveal the dreadful age
of your bedroom, your house, your city.
The shower wets the crumbling plaster that envelopes our buildings, separating our close lives from one another.
Still, no human voices.
Just the soft cry of laundry lines and the stones speaking with
rapid tiny drops sounding like Venetian girls
walking quickly, decisively, through the flooded alley on stiletto heels.
You can hear the storm drains backing up; the Grand Canal is full.
And, once again, Venice is a city covered in dark water.
June 17, 2004 (about 2 am)