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BRIDGES
TO THE ARSENAL
I’ve
seen the low sun
nodding
into the night
across
the water
I’ve
seen the saints gathered
for
one last laugh
before
turning into light
I’ve
heard Vivaldi
snapping
his fingers
as
he danced a jig
in
the Campo Manin
the
echoes of revelry
pouring
through a labyrinth
illuminated
by a thousand shadows
every
golden tile
winking
at the awe of strangers.
We
have been invited by ghosts
to
listen to the heartbeat
of
Byzantium
to
witness the coming
of
the flood
to
walk into the life
of
the past
to
see the splendor of imagination
to
bow to the winged lion
about
to launch himself
into
the skies
above
a fleet of violins
to
inhale the sea and a city
at
the same time
to
feel the polished marble
where
fantastic humans
laid
their hands
a
thousand years ago
to
climb the stairs
of
a bell tower
fashioned
by a man
with
a multitude of heads
to
stop in an alley
where
a troll lives
in
perfect happiness
to
find a statue of myself
at
the end of a long walk
through
a tunnel to nowhere
to
be kissed by an angel
when
all is lost
to
find another stairway
to
some perfect place
with
a window
overlooking
the world itself
I’ve
seen your red robes
and
your false conscience
going
up in flames
I’ve
marveled at your faith
and
your discoveries
your
struggles and wars overwhelm me
what
you have reached for
is
gentle and monstrous
the
long-buried instruments
you
perform with
confound
my own palette
I
want to know why the world
becomes
you so well.
Florence,
Oct, 18, 1994
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