Wisps of grey air gliding across the canal,
swept in by wings a-flutter
and rarefied echoes of bells
expanding, sifting the day
until its iridescent light becomes
a tossing of white coins into the air,
a gift for those
who beg the alms of sight.
This hollow, overbearing feeling of perfection,
strewn over waters and invisible domes
was this the wisdom of your beauty
or just the intimation of your tone?