The poem
Windows pampered like princes always see what on occasion deigns to trouble us: the city that, time and again, where a shimmer of sky strikes a feeling of floodtide,
takes shape without once choosing to be. Each new morning must first show her the opals she wore yesterday, and pull rows of reflections out of the canal and remind her of the other times: only then does she concede and settle in
like a nymph who received great Zeus. The dangling earrings ring out at her ear; but she lifts San Giorgio Maggiore and smiles idly into that lovely thing.