The Echo Of Glass

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A short fantasy piece set somewhere in historical Venice. ​

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At the end
noise dims.
Dancers pause.
The room
slowly
empties.
​
Footsteps fade.
Merriment taken
to other
shores.
Dissipation final.

Guests scurry away,
for Venice
wakes at noon.

Lying alone,
amidst
dust
accumulated,
is a glass sparrow,

Music has left it
to sing no longer.

Unbroken,
fragile,
precious,

Dust
its only companion,
the glass sparrow
waits.

Yet,
elegance lingers.

The sparrow's intricate wings,
silk sweet soul,
warm pulsing chest,
remain.

Approaching,
a small street urchin etches
through dust
searching for food,
shelter,
warmth.

His eyes flutter on the sparrow
cupping it delicately in hand
taking it under his wing.

Forgotten
on a table,
a loaf of bread uneaten
grapes roll in their bowl
a water pitcher,
half full,

He gathers these
in a discarded milk wire,
wraps grapes tenderly
in a serviette,
tucks sparrow
gently
in his one pocket.

He wanders,
coming to rest
in an alcove with a large window.
Venice glitters beyond,
twinkling night sky
melding with starlit rambles.

Unfolding his feast onto the milk wire,
shaping the serviette round,
into which he nestles glass sparrow.

They eat
first bite, sparrow.
second, boy.

Two companions
receiving goodbye lights
of a city
never really
their own.

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