Something about you always brought me back:
Was it the way you unwisely thought aloud
Even while you smiled and stepped on someone’s toes?
Maybe, it was your laughter that once scattered
The pigeons that gathered at St. Mark’s Square – –
Or the persistence of your photographer’s eyes
Clicking memories as the gondolier sang us to
Our clichéd kiss under the Bridge of Sighs?
We shuffled a deck of cards and cut
Back at Hotel Bloom, but outside our window
Thunder chased lightning across the Rialto:
In a postcard city with history
Written all over it, and with tired, narrow lanes
Where one could get easily lost
I found you.