Nude statue turns
its eyes round
in its head.
I’ve seen that
before, in Cocteau’s
fairy tale.
The candlesticks
will begin, perhaps,
to drip,
unlit.
Someone has taken
a pious hacksaw
to the statue’s
genitals.
A beer bottle
sundials
the pediment.
As one, the
crowd looks up,
relief or something
near enough.
A Cessna
pulls a non-sequitur
in and out
of the mists
drifting above
the Doge’s palace.
A bell sounds,
cock-a-doodle-doo
and its tail-like
echo.