Venetian Dream

DREAM

A dark embankment under the fog and lights of dead impressionists.

You’re slowly running away from the flood. It is your fractured heart.

Paintings on the walls, your fractures and unborn images touching the hair.

The rain followed by the bright sun. It burns. It burns your eyes, our encounterstill burns with memories.
Shoes and velvet. You’re dancing in the fever dream. On the bridge. Wanna jump into the gondola? What if it is the River Styx?
You are laughing, revealing the white bones in your mouth.

The ancient painting of an exhausted dead Italian.
You’re bored in the frame, you need the carnival and the night lights. The madness of people who are sly and feeble.
You’re hiding the face under the black mask, walking like a mystery. You could have been wearing a mirror instead of your face.

The sounds of music on the square breaking on the windows of the old, drowned houses.
The wind has blown your hat away.

The old mansion densely covered with memory and vines.
The marks of the crucifixion on the wall. The chairs and sculptures are draped over with white sheets.

The old wooden door and the keyhole. You enter the house. You enter the room.
You look through the keyhole.
There’s a mirror. What do you see?

You hid in your glove the poet’s letter. There were lines of prayer. It talks about roses, leather and porcelain..the rest is blurry and unclear.

She kissed the poet as his death. He is staring at the window sitting on the old chair. His hands are bleeding. The meeting felt warm.