una mattina di domenica a roma

the edge of morning is quiet

in 4am rome

cars silenced     tourists snug in their hotel beds

while only the remainder of a full moon night

drapes lazily through the roof of the pantheon

the cobblestone streets

are enchanted at that hour

and winding through them

unfolded     as a perfect exercise

in awe and wonder

how strangely unafraid i feel

on these empty streets, i thought

as i rounded corner after corner

embraced by the solitude       yet strangely fearless

walking the streets

alone on a darkened morning …

around another empty side street

two bakers, their long aprons

covered in flour         stood outside the back door of

their pannetteria       one sweeping furiously     as the other

argued out the backdoor,  all hand gesture and animation

and, as the fresh baked scents wafted down the alleyway

i smiled…

as i looked up, the sky had slightly lightened

and as i looked down, sudden sidewalk circles appeared

amid cobblestone   six perfect slabs    circle, then circle suns

danced beneath my feet

here are your circles, my friend, i thought

here is where i capture this moment

in a perfect frame

and remember its story to tell for later..

around the last corner of nightfall’s edge

the morning’s sun crested suddenly

piercing rooftop and windows

of an ancient building

reflecting an explosion of pinks and orange

on one side of the narrow street

capturing my breath with its beauty

while, simultaneously, sunday cathedral bells

suddenly exploded

calling rome’s faithful in their cacophony..

this is why we travel, i marveled

moments like this        in their simplicity

can rarely be retold  with the original magic

rarely explained with simple words

or humble attempts to capture

and re-tell, note for note,
in the exact cadence
of such true poetry

About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i write...to release the gamut of emotion...to tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
This entry was posted in poetry/poesy. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s