After the Storm
Cracks over the Grand Canal.
Looking up as nature makes its own fireworks display.
People begin to scurry through the well watered streets,
And when the window is closed,
You can still hear the rumbling from outside.
The sky turns lavender,
Just for a second.
I can't hear the pitter patter on the roof
And in the morning you never would have known,
That Noah had his ark tied to a post on the Grand Canal.
The sky is empty
And boats sail gently past.
The sun hits hundred year old buildings
And the water turns a clear blue-green.
If I took a picture,
It would only tell you half the words.
At the 55th Biennale Arte
Elsewhere in the Giordani pavilions, gold coins fell from the sky, indoor forests were walked, cups of tea were served, performers moved to improvised music and silk blew in the breeze.
On the canal outside the pavilions of the 55th International Biennale Arte pavilions of the Giordani, vaporettos sailed past on the waters of the 500 AD old city and pigeons flew dangerously close over the heads of tourists in Saint Marks Square.
The bells chimed and the lion kept watch over Lady Venezia.