~SUZANNE ROBERTS~

RAIN IN VENICE

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Chords of rain, a river, a sky falling,
the wordless delirium. Only water’s
gray echo on ancient stone.

At the gate of Saint Mark’s Cathedral,
a dead  pigeon sways in a black puddle,
mottled feathers, once wind-fluttered.

Tourists follow wooden planks across
the drenched square. The city balanced
between green canals, tilting and sinking.

In less than a year, you will have moved
out of the house, filed for divorce,
taken with you this red umbrella.

You say, I have never seen such rain.
The flood carries the pigeon, an eye open,
unblinking at the paper-white sky.

 

© by Suzanne Roberts