You like going further down into the naked horizon
beyond San Francesco del Deserto’s tight greenness,
the rich garland of cypresses staring at the light,
beyond the bare squared top
of Torcello’s bell tower, towering
in the middle of its nowhere.
You like beyond where there’s nothing more,
patches and patches of water, mud and grass
and the mellow silence of mauve flowers
and low waves in thin fingers of breeze.
The opposite of mountain peaks and high seas,
here nothing needs to fall or climb or rumble
and you taste in the air the rest
and fulfilment of the expanse of shallows.
Walking on water could be a gentle feat
and gently, in the labyrinth of canals,
the egrets’ still whiteness invites you
to fade in a reeds’ rustle while you breathe.