postcard from Venice

somehow

the air is different here.

the blues

are

thin between

the white of clouds,

the yellows in the sky,

pale ribbons,

as a different

sun goes down.

the reds. the tints

of paint

on doors and window

frames,

with saffron

stucco walls.

and as the gondolas

slide

by in brown

rivers.

you stand on the bridge,

as if in

a postcard

while someone takes

your picture.