Venice

The city of masks whose grayness

reflects indifference,--

Venice, you’re bound to suffer

the fate of Atlantis.

Thus, finding a small cozy place

in one of your attics,

a poet stands ready to capture

the end of existence.

Reflecting off the dark water

the stars shine brightly.

Dreams are redoubled here,--

the nights are wonderful.

The poet inhales the air and writes,

“Death seems doubtful,”

exhales, pauses, and continues on,

“...afterlife likely.”