I remember how her eyes met mine
As I poled her wedding party through the Grand Canal.
An arranged marriage, a fat and stupid groom.
I met her when the moon had set.

She assured me she had land in Umbria;
In a year her parents would relent;
Her sister would accept the toad bridegroom;
We would be happy.

But even as I held her in my arms,
Her lips like silken waves that swelled my tide,
I felt the stillness of the nevermoving land
Waiting like a buried bone.

What is the bottom of the last lagoon
I read like words through hands on pole
In times of flood. Will I have another chance?
Will Venice die?