Venice in February

Etched in glass, a memory.
Venice just before the show,
The dull wind whittled widow's spirit,
Coming home a clear mistake.
The marble villa floors oozed decay as 
Rain after rain after rain 
Seeped under window sash, slipped into dour.

Tick-tick-tick the Schwartzwald droned
Slushy oar sounds from canals,
Garish streak of Carnevale looming blue a week away.
She sat, rigid, immured in someone else's childhood.
In a room full of relics
Arched doorways set for giants' stride
Columns closing in.