Venice in the Veil of Mist

The water in Venice, where rivers converge, lets one hear the history.

A lovely, delicate veil descends.

When smog covers this wet region.

Though their appearance differs greatly, the gray-clad domes and summits remain where they are.

Every gondola travels silently from coast to coast like a ghostful shadow.

The bridges leave an enigmatic path as they gently twist with ethereal ease and you could only barely see their forms.

Still there like ghosts in a fairy tale of St. Mark's and Doge's Palace.

The tight streets resembled a maze.

They write a different story in the clouds.

Every footfall has subdued, gentle muted sounds.

In this wonderful smooth night.

On the cobblestones where secrets are shared, the lamplight lends a ghostly hue.

The reflections are smooth and fuzzy, glittering like the dreams of the city are realizing.

There were just whispers, a bird far away, and the sound of waves breaking audible.

As the fog sweeps over Venice, the city lets slow, long breaths.

The hug of the lagoon, a silver mist, takes over your emotions; you cannot say no.

There is a quiet, deep charm in Venice, where the fog does visit.

The hush seemed to have halted time. a universe created long ago from which the mists have evolved.

Venice is art there in front of us in this blurry shape.