LEAVING ROME
olive brances slap
chrome the sky's a
blue clearer than
agates. Cobblestones,
arches balanced as
precariously as our
words in the car
as if we both knew
something besides
the trip was ending
tho lulle din the overgrown amphi
theater where rose
light licked our
skin and turned
hair mahoginy.
Frascati helped
make the black
glo tho stones in
us were falling
like those in the
basilica at Saint
Sebastion and we
were as scratched,
dug into and dark
as the catacombs
where frscoes
peal and those waiting for the Nazis huddled,
clinging to stones.
Unit Circle Poetry
Original Rome photo taken by D. Lauvernier