West Of Rome / new poems 2011

West of Rome

I set the proud lions upon her and headed dead west,
rode red the faltering sun like a slowly dying steed,
my worn gray shadow elongating out behind me
til dusk called it a day, more like a decade,
and night fell blue beyond its own black,
and quiet, save for the distant sound
of her being torn limb from limb
whispered in my waiting ear
from east over a shoulder
by a witness, the wind
pale beyond white,
feral with a fear
of what I alone
uncaged.