Head of Trails

43.3185535

11.3316534

The walls around crumble into tall yellow grass
Romulus, Remus

I was thinking about it there and there.

Wild rock shelves
and waves lapping
eroding centuries of tongue wagging
of order

Your clothing was smoked
Sensing sharp

See crisply
Hear crisply
And shivers to touch, taste;
Those peaches you were eating once

Around you there was the shaking up of imposition
you were wild after;
this figure preoccupied with the horizon
with the water
with the sky meets water

with

Cross continents and provincial parks;
extracted are the circumstances

Romulus, Remus,
another place being:
fed to the wolves
or just, rightly and ruling

The conqueror (unbeknownst),
does long
to become again
conquered