The nonexistent spaces in the Arsenale! The swaying columns
And how everything toppled, while the poet’s dry-as-dust hand
Intervened. Ave Maria, he mumbled and jumped into a pool of
Old polished marble, filled with holy water. Are we afloat? No,
We gloat, hold each other tight. Until the foghorns sound
And the black gondola approaches us and we drift towards San Michele.
The Nonexistent Spaces
We were the ships, we were built, we departed
How to fill a space that has been lost, has sunk
There is a language that cannot be suppressed: may I adopt
The wind blows through you hair, columns hide the years
Nifty Matron, with sensuous hair and breast, the gondola will
The way through is the space of dogs sniffing marble
Colour is hardly a diversion here. The transparent light
The nonexistent spaces in the Arsenale! The swaying columns
How to fill a space that has been lost, has sunk
There is a language that cannot be suppressed: may I adopt
The wind blows through you hair, columns hide the years
Nifty Matron, with sensuous hair and breast, the gondola will
The way through is the space of dogs sniffing marble
Colour is hardly a diversion here. The transparent light
The nonexistent spaces in the Arsenale! The swaying columns