With sighs, the city sketches maps upon the cobbles, the streets become veins; the ink is salt and light, each crossing marks a latitude of nostalgia. The squares unfold like bays of suspended steps, lamppost-lighthouses guide memories toward the horizon, the palaces tilt their roofs to learn the wave’s motion. When night undoes its bounds, the chart disperses in the sea, bridges become crests, and gardens wear seaweed, the city begins to swim, finally saline.