— Lee Rossi
Varius, you know something about love.
I woke early and walked to the verandah,
saw the fog welling offshore like a giant
wave. To the east it had already engulfed
the land. Only peaks and ridges survived
as islands. It’s a day when burly autumn
pushes aging summer aside, the kind of day
when I want to find a girl and hold her
until even that doesn’t help. Does anything
help? That smug bastard, Crassus,
sits on his 200 acres, slaves doing all
the work, and praises the simple life.
There’s a chill in the air, Varius,
but it’s in me too. Who will remember
us, when we’re gone? Our children?
They’ll be forgotten too, and we’ll be
just faces in old pictures, stern or seedy or
bewilderingly strange. And what about
these words? Will they speak across the years?
Who will hear this dodgy, fearful voice?