There’s something about a balcony,

suffocating someone , sometime

dividing the two, most of the time.

Across the canal lies paradise…

not even an inconsequential view from here,

but there’ll be fairies to indicate your in the right place ,

if you thought you were looking out there

and somehow got lost

they are whimsical flares;

dropped pins to remember it by,

broken pinwheels to temper your expectations;

dancing just beneath that earthy smell,

dwelling beneath this balcony and that crowned molding;

in and around the cracks in the ceiling.

Ducking under the high shelves,

(I’m paraphrasing)

so full of themselves

so as to not knock any of the plates down;

so as to not interrupt.

(I’m interrupting)