Travel Notes Venezia
Past midnight in a cheap hotel room. Some night owl plays his mandolin; endless stops and starts of elevators, two drunks return late from the bar.
Where is my restful sans souci, the grotto that gleams in sapphire’s royal blue as I attempt to submerge myself in Capri dreams?
I close my eyes, imagine stars beneath Heaven’s girth and listen to Puccini’s aria “Nessum Dorma,” ‘Tonight no one must sleep,” to drown out the elevators’ humming.
I try to ignore the pounding of a neighbor’s headboard against the wall that divides our rooms. Finally, his door opens and shuts-- I hear the giggling of la puttana as she leaves. Then, sleep’s trance. In the morn, Capri.
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~~~~ It is a poem’s absolute perfection that can lead to its imperfection. ~~~~
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