causeways of the mind

Venice is approached by water.

To get there, dive deep into that great lagoon late at night. Like you are an outrageous heron with long golden beak, insouciant toss of head, glossy oiled streaming feathers, wetly dark with glints of amber and jade. Nose under and past all the slumbering pilings, lapping murk. Emerge deep in the interior along the Grand Canal. Climb up the wet glistening launch into one of the great palaces, wiped and abandoned, saved of all memory but for apparitions wisping in stripped leggings and capes, off to duels and operas in nearby cerebrums.

Make a nest of antique rags in a corner – a real safe place – with the sound of the night water lapping the marble moorings, light flickering in from street lamps on stone, marble, faded abstracted frescos, and the slow sinking of the house and the city becalming you. Later, slip back into the black water, and swim out past the last lobes and bridges. Move out onto the great lagoon. Find the edges of the lagoon. Go beyond.