Acqua Alta

Acqua Alta

Feel the torrid caress

of the rising scirocco winds

relentlessly whipping

across the Adriatic Sea,

churning indigo waters

that once languished

under the hot sultry sun.

Venetian lagoons swell

with acrid animosity,

its gondoliers silent, faceless,

paddling in narrow canals

as muddy brown water

invades city streets,

flooding the empty plaza.

Bora tempest peaks

as tepid tidewaters

crest and tumble,

crumbling seawalls,

eroding coast lines

and washing away

the sins of yesterday.

The hypnotic pull

of the magnetic moon

melds with the faint glow

of streetlamps, reflecting

on streets of high water,

cobblestones wet,

and immersed

in this merciless tide.

Resigned to fate,

I gingerly step in,

plunging my feet

into the cold water…

waves of anxiety

rising, then receding

in this acqua alta,

the ebb and flow

of my life.

Colleen M. Breuning © 2009

December 2, 2009