A MINOR FASCINATION

She was a minor fascination,
Insignificant -
faint, centric ripple,
with no epicenter.
The figment – fancy twirled,
in refracted glints from his admonished sun;
a talisman, deprived hypnosis.

Without eyes, he misperceives
the great shuttered windows
of Santa Maria Formosa –
soulless hollows
betraying dulcet truths.
Radiant tang of tangerine spring
plucks her mandolin dreams like carnivale -
each festive gondola
docking explorations in vane,
no conquered corridor through his new world.

She feels the throb and ancient hum
dips sprite painted toes
into cooling pools along the canal,
bright banter,
merchant arts,
embellishing Rialto
to awaken in caliginous clangs
from atop the Palazzo Ducale.

Dearly beloved, in rosary haste,
I am now departing –
into sequestered gaiety.
The Al nono risorto beckons
away the spinning wheels,
their coil dizzying strictures,
that prick the aperture of my naked heart,
unfettered by regrets -
and those other minor fascinations,
no fatal puncture can endure.