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

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