standing
on the edge
flood high
as Tiber
greets the sea

I've been this way
before
I think
though not quite
so far
so free

across the levelled landscape warm
the ochre stones
seem yet to breath
their thousand years
of toil

when pompous
violent Rome
enslaved the world
or least
the world it knew
beside the
Tyrrhenian Sea

but now
the stones not silent
speak
of loves and hates
faith follies fed
when street to street
ran muddled toiling sweat
and childrens' cries
outshone their parents
tiresome ways

all silent now
to those not deaf
but quiet echoes
can be heard as
sun sets west
green parakeets
do cheep and chase
from tree
to tree
turning
autumn back
to spring

as slowly I walk back
the chatter above
the silver turned leaves
the lizards green
upon my path
all beckon me
to folly free
to follow thee
along the dusty path
through narrow gates
to Rome

10/05/2016