Glassy Apparatus
       

I'm drunk in a distillery oflight
that makes me woozy, rocking on canals
past rosy and eroding bricks, past walls
of gothic windows, past a glittery fleet.

Here, everything's in flux, repeated spasms
of wake and wave, bright sun, reflecting pool,
surges made up of intricate detail.
From window boxes, flowers hang like prisms.

Light flutters on the undersides of bridges,
spattering on the basin's sizzling grill,
bursting like gunfire, drizzled like swirls of oil,
flashing against the polizia's badges.

Sun spent, the water shows off what it's got:
a sheet of gold leaf, crumpled, then pressed flat.

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Copyright © 2014 John Philip Drury All rights reserved
from Sea Level Rising
Able Muse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission