By Angelica Erskine / Contributor | | Edited by Alexandra Nava-Baltimore
I wonder as I wander through the maze
in Rome, cobbled, and old, did your feet land
here too? Did they tread the same stones, mired
in bones, I muse, as I muster a thought
of love, lost to war, yours to battle, mine too.
Separated by an ocean the sea
of love consumes, yet love ensues, loveless,
and in pain, I hear the starling’s refrain,
like you must have, years ago, under old
Fresco’s, near Bruno in the brisk days sun.
Did you taste bitter tears that roll, and drop,
for a love that is lost, as life rolls on,
muddled like the sweet rose under my foot,
at Campo di Fiori; are you here?