The Venetian by David Philip Ireland
music: Winter from David's Five Seasons
Beneath a window in the Calle
Cool Chardonnay sways us
Stealing chosen moments of our curious life,
To let time slip away
From a darkened shuttered room
He took in noon's harsh glare
Below, the brides to be and gondoliers,
The wheelchair-bound and the football freaks
The tourists in their mismatched leisurewear
Then he's gone,
The Venetian,
From the ancient Moorish frame
Terracotta stucco peeling in the sun
Weathered by the mists of Autumn
And we drift,
Threads unraveling
Time untied in slow motion
The beads of glass and gold you chose
Are little worlds, microcosms,
Captured fragments of Murano blue mornings
Miniatures of an incandescent day
Fused in this art
Is more than most will ever dream
But we see,
We see
The Venetian returns from his sun-dark room and gazes down,
Comfortable in his skin,
Aware and unaware of who we are
We move on past the doorways of the holy hosts
Drinking in the scents of the moment
Patchouli and incense oils
Sensing the moments that have drawn us here today
There's nowhere in this world that would be wrong with you
But here today, with you, this place could not be more right
This miraculous place
This special place,
This other room,
This other view,
This other moment you capture in time
A gilded fragment of our life's mosaic
Glimmering so bright in this light of noon,
Shimmering so light in this night of moon
