I wish I could start this with my face disappears into the Fountain of Four Seasons,
but it's the Fountain of Four Rivers, and my face has nowhere to go.
It's 1 o'clock in Rome and I'm sunburnt. I'm gelato.
Somewhere behind the Nile lies my reflection, eying the fake Prada bags
and Ray Ban sunglasses. I turn that way--towards Danube, touching the coat of arms
I don't believe in. And that way--Rio de la Plata showing the abilities of America, riches
no one really sees. Somehow, I'm facing Ganges, navigating the water myself
if the sun shines at the right angle. I track only one obelisk and a couple
of missing thumbs, half expecting to see myself swimming in one of the puddles.
I can't get close enough to touch, two Indian men selling scarves stop me, try to wager
a guess on how low they won't go. I see Bernini laughing at me, waving
at me to leave his statue here, untouched by the other. But when I blink, turn
to walk away, it's just an older Italian couple and a child, laughing at a bird.
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