At the Start of the Grand Canal
1 & 2

Painting

The Art of David Wiley

 Poetry

Bridges to the Arsenal

I've seen the low sun
    nodding into the night
    across the water
I've seen the saints gathered
    for one last laugh
    before turning into light
I've heard Vivaldi
    snapping his fingers 
    as he danced a jig
    in the Campo Manin
    the echoes of revelry
    pouring through a labyrinth
    illuminated by a thousand shadows
    every golden tile
    winking at the awe of strangers
We have been invited by ghosts
    to listen to the heartbeat
    of Byzantium
to witness the coming
    of the flood
to walk into the life
    of the past
to see the splendor of imagination
to bow to the winged lion
    about to launch himself
    into the skies
    above a fleet of violins
to inhale the sea and a city
     at the same time
to feel the polished marble
    where fantastic humans
    laid their hands
    a thousand years ago
to climb the stairs
    of a bell tower
    fashioned by a man
    with a multitude of heads
to stop in an alley
    where a troll lives
    in perfect happiness
to find a statue of myself
    at the end of a long walk
    through a tunnel to nowhere
to be kissed by an angel
    when all is lost
to find another stairway
    to some perfect place
    with a window
    overlooking the world itself
to pursue beauty and mystery
     over bridges and water
    through ancient streets
    without end or purpose
to be alive in a maze
    filled with spirits
    who peer at you
    from niches in the walls
    and make no sound at all
to struggle with the lives of artists
    who gave everything
     to decorate the ceilings of rooms
to be an ingredient
    in the European stew
    and wonder who will taste you
    and where you will end up
to be a remnant of yourself
    walking across the pages
    of a history you never knew
to see space and walls
    for the first time
to collect the outer edges of yourself
    in one grand sweep
to look into the haunted houses
    of your mind
to believe once and for all
    that fantasy does exist
to go into the bowels of civilization
    and emerge steaming
I want to take one of those boats
    to a mysterious palace
I want to emerge
    on the waterworn steps
    of an Arabesque place
    where a princess from Arbagoogoo
    lives with a host of devoted courtiers
I want to hear that final
    ring of your bells
    in the middle of the night
I want to know
    how you toiled and played
    how long you looked in your mirrors
how you became elements
    nurtured by the contemplation
     of forms
how you found the world
    standing in one square
    and brought it to you
how you built these monuments
    to your incredible ego
how you became so tastefully mad
how you conquered the world
    in your own way
how you sang and danced yourself
    into oblivion
I want to know why
    you die so gracefully
    without complaint
    too wise to think
    that you are anything but human..