Poetry Friday: VENICE


You faded courtesan,
bewitching me
with a few candlit piazzas
cleverly placed
in your stuccoed skirts—
directing my eye
away from your crumbling face,
away from the vacant darkness
stalking the Grand Canal.

You hope
I will be decieved
long enough—
    by earrings of Murano glass,
    by flounces of Burano lace,
     by waltzes on San Marcos Square,
to pay the steep price
you demand.

And I will be.

Dia Calhoun