Venice,
evening breezes,
the radio feint
from the kitchen,
the parched pain
of a life�s labor
misunderstood -
leaves of
greatness spraying
into the darkness,
dangling limp
in exhausted hands.
Daub the
salt-stained
stigmata, open
the weeping pores,
exude the horrors
of hate, deceit,
in a not-forgotten
alien race.

Waves of
moon-dyed mist
break purple
on the rail,
the bubbles
crest, exploding
in canticles
of silence -
transcend
this swimmer
of a summer�s
night
who is drowned
by the dawn
of registered
time -
drink this froth
of fog with me,
toast the dew
of Ezra�s brow.



�2005 by Craig Kirchner