here again some

where new and old is Rome altogether.
observing what is
and making note;
thus comes poetry out of this city.

took a cab across town to the district Parioli,
Fiat called me for a recording session.
later on a bus ride home a baby cries.
after a few minutes i move to the rear.

and cries relentless, poor child
it is twenty minutes to the termini
and cries.
voluntarily out early i transfer buses.

there is an alert.
a white medical van goes by
as siren calls i’m here, make way.
the van labeled as carrying blood and organs.

on then off another bus again
at Largo Argentina.
a place i know well,
though hardly time to look around

a third bus takes me for a few blocks,
and then walking now near home
i stop, because it was necessary.
had to to look into the hole.

men were working on the long deep ditch.
speaking with a co-looker i mention
the building right there
was a workshop of Michelangelo

see the faint painting on the side that his students did
the workers were seated, resting for lunch, listening
i said to my co-hole- looker that only men
stop to look in the holes.

one of the hole workers heard
and added, not only men,
also children always stop
to gaze in the hole.

so it is that good work,
as with poetry,
begins with the question:
what is down there?

and this time i do think
for sure, rightfully so, there may be
something most interesting hidden for ages from mankind
down there in that hole.