Augury

Verona. Venezia. Roma.
With Homer, Calvino and the Bard in tow.

When my gods come for me, let it be said
that somewhere in the slithery gravel of my past,
when the moon shed its ivory on waltzing tides
and silences fractured into vermillion streets
as time fell, like voile, like rain,

I was nowhere to be found,
forgotten to the amniotic lure of Mnemosyne's song.