often in the mornings
when i’m driving to work
i think about walking down this path
and looking down over the spanish steps
and the eternal city
and exploring churches
and tombs nel campo.
and their ancient basements
i miss living there.
i miss tasting the pizza margherita
and the homemade pesto.
and being ushered into the kitchen to drink espresso in the gray of dawn.
i miss exploring tombs
and getting lost in the old greats.
and staring at them, staring back at me with the ancient voided eyeballs, the pupils worn off lifetimes ago.
i miss watching the natives, with their sangre full of legends, and the dichotomy of light and dark in which their city lives.
i miss the different lights– the rich honey being soaked into the old acqueduct arches,
the buzzing, lemony mist that permeates hadrian’s countryside utopia,
the musty light of sunset on the basilica san pietro, with long-reaching rays.