No more cross-talking in the gondola,
all the glazed eyes focused on the moment
sanity makes a token appearance,
when riders glide under the privileged bridge,
just before the canal makes a dogleg
left. Those of us getting out for lunch
run the risk of getting back in. Nature
has its own good-natured twin
forever tethered in an old quarter
closed to the public. Meanwhile, the water
pooling in the nearby basement ripples
like a shaky chalice filled at midnight
and refilled. Don’t we all want slow boat rides?
You bet the house the easiest route
to open water is common knowledge.
The margin for error is secret.