Venetian Glare

For thousands of years so walks among us: an elevated being, however scarce. Shuffling through the bazaar, under an arch of artery, so one can wonder how much paper and contract bind the walls. Wander some more toward the port and ships underside, henchmen off to repair. Staring up a Lady Luck mermaid hinged to the mast for a rough waters ward.

How do they move, these silent watchers? Lifting each foot and planted right along the cobblestone cemented lines: for them it is no balancing act. Open the map and trace the whole world. You won’t find them.

There’s a Buddha statue lit at night nearby, nestled in a smoothed volcanic rock porchside garden. Thousands of years they had the answers: it’s time to catch up.

With velvet lining toward the opera one notes all the discarded emotions, traces of a supposed humanity. Before passing the curtain so one dons the Volto mask — they say it’s for an evening, but it seems to be for life.

The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters.