while you stand beside the Dying Gaul
cut down by chisel and stone.
She holds tight a dove to her breast --
a grey head peers from a chalky fold,
a left hand rises in dismay.
At her side is an open goose’s bill
ready to attack the feathered frame
hidden within her fluted drape.
Once wolves lived in cages below these Renaissance steps,
once I walked amongst busts of Nero, Cicero, and Caesar,
once my Roman lover grasped my hand and we gazed at her.
Angel-winged dust fills the air no filter suspends our fall.
No sculpture endures to confirm us engraved in stone.
You stayed to watch the girl with a dove to leave me to my flight.
I live in Garland, Texas and love gardening in my rose garden, raising a Scottish Terrier and taking piano lessons to play Chopin. I have been writing all my life