Respiration
In the courtyard I scent the breath
of the Eternal City,
mingled stones and vegetation
sighing with the ages—
remembering who has passed here
by the scholars’ Aula,
where dreams
and dogmas dwelt
in reasoned Latin.
Here under fading frescoes of our fathers and mothers,
saints and several monarchs,
I pause this morning
and breathe their passage,
until the smell of the laundry
reminds me—
even today’s occupations
share the perfume of eternity.
9 thoughts on "Respiration "
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Love: ” breathe their passage,”
Okay Greg, this is a solid epiphany!
usually, for me, a smell will call up a memory. I like how in this poem a smell brings you to the present. the title brings everything together
Gaby, at this friary, the laundry room is that way–it has the pleasant smell of soap (for years) which I always enjoy when i am living here…
“even today’s occupations/share the perfume of eternity.” Wonderful last line, Greg!
I love the history and culture you bring with your pieces.
I love how this poem evokes thoughts of eternity but also of “fading frescoes.”
Wonderful last line! Beautiful imagery. This especially, for me, poignant: “in reasoned Latin” … you “breathe their passage”
Your ethereal description draws in the reader to experience what once was. The ending brings us back to reality with the scent of laundry. The last line weaves it all together with the “perfume of eternity.”
“mingled stones and vegetation
sighing with the ages— just beautiful!
remembering who has passed here”
I love the idea of endowing objects with human characteristics and the power of memory. I always feel like I’m transported to foreign soils/histories in your poems! (or laundries lol)