The Wading King

We slipped through transient terrain
across the ethereal and the arcane,
leaving beneath us white waking trail
and floating on the sway of cattails.
A kingfisher met us upon the harbor
with foundations laid of fall arbor
of the Venetician lagoon fertile,
stretching from Brenta to the Sile.
We paced ourselves through the dunes
descending further into the lagoon,
stopping only upon arrival of a heron,
wading king, a brackish marsh baron.
The acqua alta was soon on the rise
as twilight hours birthed glowflies,
between Chioggia and the Torcello
we sank with eelgrass and Othello.