I’m crossing bridges yet failing to come to any realizations.  Rather I enter into new neighborhoods.  Places where Greeks traded their wares centuries ago, Germans plied the markets with their gold and silver, Persians sold silk from the Far East and Venetians created a central market with their salt.  Turning corners and staring down long corridors watching people coming towards me and going away from me.  The sky above remains constantly overcast, obscuring the sun and the direction it would offer me.  Many of the choices I make end where the streets give way to the water contained in the canals.  I come to places where the alleys open into larger squares.  Here the skeletons are built on the outside of the large churches.  Constantly they remain in a state of healing, in a typical Italian fashion, never finishing.  The ground begins to sway with the waves as I step onto floating passenger rooms that drop me off a little further along water.  I become like a blood cell moving through the veins of the city, pushing past slower cells that get caught in the fatty windows on the sides of the veins.  I am expelled into the garden, where the art of the world has congregated.  My eyes do their thing, looking.  My mind does likewise, yet inward rather than outward.

I am carried by the same ferries to the station, where I had arrived earlier, and now would be doing the opposite.  I enter the device that will cause my expulsion from the vein corridored place of crossings. The light inside the train makes the window reflect the faces of the occupants inside, rather than revealing the twilight outside.  My head lay back against the seat as drowsiness creeps into me.  I eventually give in.