Robed in gold and sea-blue glaze,
the old façades lean out to show
how rooms within still lead toward
an afloat, ajar aerial dream—
above the heads of idle flâneurs,
loitering in ambiguous reveries,
beneath those balconies that swell—
tender, ornate, yet severe—
too narrow to admit the body,
yet wide enough to draw the thought
upward—toward lift and flight—
like nets of charm or civic masks
that veil the hush of long-dried seas
in murmured sighs of evening shade.
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