Venetian Catharsis

Starched air stands to attention,
The callous sky cracks over the lagoon
and with rods of rain that pierce the even waters
it is done.
From my window
I can see it
washing down the Rialto
painting it black
The songs of the Gondolas are over,
romance suspended in the rain
The savage gods have with citrus lick
roused dreaming lovers from their sleep
At such an hour, all battles surely end
when victors tramp in reddened mud
to count the dead and roll away their guns.