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
