Basin, columns, morning
San Marco
San Marco makes sense when you come in from the water, not when a lane drops you into the square. The basin shows you the space before your shoe hits the stone.
In from the basin
The boat leaves you at the molo, and what you face is wide water, not an alley. The square closes that opening on three sides and stays open toward the islands.
The sound changes as you step off. The engine stays behind you. Underfoot the stone is broad, dry or already wet, depending on the hour and the tide.
Columns, the Piazzetta, the facade
Two columns mark the pass between water and square. You walk between them and the basilica comes at you as a wall of marble and mosaic, not as a door you have to hunt for.
The Piazzetta is the corridor. The square itself sits beyond it, wider, with the long arcades on either side and the campanile keeping the vertical measure.
Early stone, a fuller square later
Early, when the boats have only just resumed, the stone still belongs to people who walk slowly. You hear steps. The tables have not yet taken the whole edge.
Later the square fills and your stride shortens. That is the hour, not a fault in the place. If you want the pattern of the pavement, come back when the column shadows are long.
Leaving by the same water
You leave the way you came, toward the water. From the molo the basilica stays at your shoulder and the basin takes the foreground again.
Look back once. Then read the stop board and let the boat take you along the bank, until the square closes into a facade.