Torcello

Captured by the sounds of the sterling silver knife

I watched it glide with pleasure across the crispy warm toast.

It carried too the dripping mounds of pale creamy butter

And the wispy strands of luxurious honey. I smiled while

The dangling golden threads made pirouettes across the fresh croissants.

Gentle noises confronted me, but I remained hypnotized by the

Blood orange mimosas being poured into the Venetian goblets.

Sunlight pierced it's path through the Murano cut crystals and

Mingled with the violet drapes as it

Splashed over the silk aubergine tablecloth.

I stared without blinking at my mother's pristine hands

Aging

She gingerly positioned onto our Fornasetti plates

The fragrant leek omelettes bursting with concentric circles of

Spring green.

A patio door drifted open to reveal the morning ritual of the

Water traffic. Soft sounds drifted trickled past our ears as if

Quietly being carried away in a gondola.

Over-ripe tears sharply burned my eyes. Oozing over my lower lids

The drops created continuous transparent roads until they reached the

Base of my chin where they puddled into a tortoiseshell box.

I saved them all.

When I returned that evening to the web of Venice, and when no one

Was looking but me, I poured them all into the Grand Canal

Near Santa Maria della Salute.

Darkness consumed them all.