A sun-bleached bone dipped in black ink shifts
like dirty plates along a silver counter,
while orange water slips from forehead to chin
on the Venetian Lagoon.
Forgers founder against the constant heat:
fire where all the trees and shrubs burned out
a long time ago, without the screaming faces
that clawed for their shade.
A tower porters over the rotted wisteria,
no longer fed from fractured cloudy windows
and grinning eyelashes upon wrinkled knees;
bone less skin.
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