Venice - Rimini - Ravenna


The lattice-work of Ariadne,
barely (in my crepuscular
History Theatre) there.
The river flows on, over yonder –

Eridanos, Mississippi, Po –
moving past this osier
excellence of rare
dear Dr. Wise.  Minerva, Virgo?

Beatrice, Julie Littletree...
Maggie... Miriam
of Bethany, or Bethlehem...
limpid over hopscotch Sally

gallivanting crost her vaulting
Paradise of glimmering
frater Pantocrator (wing,
knave, to that sheepfold ceiling).

Meanwhile my double creeps along
like Ezra the Venetian
Blind, touching the stolen
Rimini passage with an aching

brow; beyond his haunts by the canal
& sibylline bone-staves
Franciscans hid in caves,
a living shepherd leaps the wall

(disguised by Ariadne’s woof).
These corridors are spongy
depths.  So take the plunge –
blue marble veins Vitale’s roof.


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