Venice

Conor O’Brien

you were not in Venice,

but you were with me

after i chased a sunset,

breathing hard from running

across the tiny island.

on my way

i found a bridge of gold

that didn’t need sunlight

to sparkle

and houses with

chipped paint, blue and pink;

people inside were cooking;

that was most relaxing.

i ran steps away from

the ancient waterways

while hearing the sounds of

the work day ending, a shopkeeper

locking a door, a glass blower

shouting “goodbye!” to a friend.

stopping at a dock, i watched

the sun behind a cloud,

out of breath.