I.
My head aches, and the stale air burns
my throat, pricks me into sweat and dream.
The train rushes its heavy skeleton, shakes
my head side to side in half-paralysis
—the nimbus state of half-sleep—and when
I open my eyes, feverish, near laughter,
the blur of lights far off—Venice—carnival
with men in top hats,
women dressed as harlequins or
divas or fat, fuzzy bees.
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