what a lot of fuss for death..

rome yesterday from frankfurt

 hot ayurvedic oil massage welcomed me back to the west
belly smoothly circled
heart warmed and stirred
fried carciofi and nonna betta chicken soup
beautiful friends
extraordinary sleep, mid night visitations..
laundry
a visit to the cat sanctuary amid the ruins
and today,

a walk to the cemetery where keats is buried
and shelley and gregory corso  and w.w. story
and william severn and indians and russians
and greek orthodox and michiganders
--yes saw someone from jackson michigan
and one from algonac michigan who journeyed here in the 1800's--
and danes and jews and...

what is the great pull
from now til then
the claim that this is where life is?
layer and layer and layer of it
and life s affirmation could only be lived here?

overlooked by a huge pyramid built in maybe 300 AD
or maybe earlier
 the cemetery is full of monuments and angels
and dreams and expressions of love for Rome
the adopted city of so many, inspiring so much passion and connection.
layers upon layer of civilization here in this place.
they cannot dig an electrical line and miss a marketplace
or a roman bath or a aqueduct or another evidence of mans
repetition of the journey..
here man is palpable
civilization is manifest.. real, claimstaking
imprinted and carved.
one cannot miss it.. spirit need not even hang around
because man has been here, done this and continues to do this and
this and this again and again and again and again.

in the cemetery, it became so apparent again that death is so much harder
for those remaining of this side of the divide,
angels and dreams, stains of lives lived and proclaiming
I  WAS ALIVE I WAS ALIVE I WAS ALIVE
and yet.. there seems so little trust that they will survive
their spirits, their next stages.
i wonder if i make myself clear
i wonder if i can make myself clear.

i have learned a great deal in india
and come back to man's vision of himself
as artifact.
hmmm.

and the pizza is great