A night sky like some deep fabric unfurled
above these luminous reflections in
a dark canal, reflections so bodied
they lend substance to our damp inside night
of stone floors worn down smooth by others not
unlike us sleeping here in lumpy beds
or by candlelight reading or writing
or fretting at things we can do nothing
about, there in the distance some someone
idly pushes at impastoed shutters
and leans out to see the stars in that sky.