The water is as green as an infusion
an overcooked nettle chowder: it was boiled for much too long
and for . . .
a time that was so interminable it can no longer
be measured
with the kitchen clocks

of the fish not even the bones remain
and the red of the plaster can do nothing but reflect
itself in the blue canals - I tell the astonished
the inattentive
Evelina
- where could all these houses dissolve?
is there any place else?
a different casserole?

nothing is left of the world but this chowder
of houses
spiced with the black prow of a gondola
and there is no animal nor man nor plant
nor algae shaped like fish
nor lichen nor mussel
nor black claw
that floats or grazes this
water

Translation: 2017, Matilda Colarossi