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