The air shimmers with so much gold that I
imagine I am walking under a painted sky.
Glorious Venice where vaporetti glide
over canals. And pigeons crowd, then fly
close to the iron water where
gondoliers sing their way to San Marco Square.
An abbot from San Lazar dreams
under Tintoretto skies and streams
of clouds. Even the fish dare
leap from safety into this magic air.
Translated from the Armenian by Diana Der-Hovanessian