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Prometheus

Rory Thom (2024 Runner-up)

Calm.

Sunlight raining down on the cathedral -

Fire, spitting on the distance,

Bidding tourists flee.

High blue, low light,

Yet deep flames walk the horizon,

Barely contained.

The distant city

As reflection, mirroring construction

Of embodied tranquillity,

Then and someday.

 

The tall tower, stretching low,

Reaching the outstretched hand

Of the shore,

But fades,

As the sun sinks, shedding blood

Into the beak of the canal;

Without fire extinguished.

 

Gondolas circle, paddle, swim, flail,

And will one day drown

In the mess of rope and salt,

Regicide for the bridge.

Passage for

the asylum of mementos -

Native accommodation.

 

History buckles under the passing lenses,

But the blue reaches further than camera can see.

Constant flames mask the coeval to be and was.

Passive Venice.

 

History viewed, murmured, never

Conscious.

Clay basilicas,

Monuments of glory and death

Now merely images,

Significant of nothing.

But inferno can’t be chained.

No longer bound,

But creeping the surface.

False calm.

 

Walking from the rock.

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