Adriatic sea below me, still like ice,
Scattered islands, thrown like a dice.
Sea is coloured metal, and so is the sky;
There is no horizon to separate you and I.
Islands, rocks, bays, bays, and bays,
Lie under a thin layer of clouds – whipped cream frozen in time.
I see Venice below, and below is now far.
*
The stewardess announces a lottery game,
The plane shakes in the midst of a turbulent frame.
Two of them pass through the lane;
Perfumes, ” exclusive, none of it down on the land”
It’s shaking more, and Venice is now gone,
I smile and say no, the stewardess goes on.
They are hiding an obvious hurry,
perhaps they just want to eat their curry.
Turbulences come and go,
Unbothered passengers staring at their phones.
Through the window, a painting appears,
Of still clouds and passing fears.