Wednesday, February 04, 2009

1502 and now


the document for this building where we live
shows that in 1502 the first two floors were erected,
three floors above were added later



early morning can be silent
here in the center of Rome
whose blocks and alleyways have known the ages

robust characters that laughed and cried,
lived and died here are forgotten,
covered in the dust to which they have returned

of them i feel not a trace
though i stand in their stead,
walk in their space,
have taken as mine their place
of joys and sorrows,
yesterday's tomorrows

there are no echoes of lingering bygone voices
in these halls of musty deeds, worn life pages
that have long passed along these walls
rubbed thoroughly into the mists of gone ages,

into that silence of the night
I will follow

1 comment:

Annie said...

We write so we will linger, and we linger in the lives of others we leave behind, and in every one we've ever touched or affected with the look in our eyes, the sound of our voice, even strangers.

Maybe one of those folks from 1502 left a mark on a wall, a hollow in a stone, and every time you see it or touch it or sense it, the experience changes something that you do or don't do because of it. Maybe.

I know that reading you has changed me. You've got a certain reflective tone, and an unadorned way of chronicling the essential as much as the mundane. It's magic when it happens, and it happens all the time.

I won't live forever. I'm accepting that, reluctantly. Maybe some of my words will linger, and the sound of my voice. Maybe.