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[to Patriciajj, postpoems' greatest Poet]

I stood before great Vergil's massive tomb,

one lovely spring day, but, just at high noon,

the world was covered with a spreading gloom---

without even one star, without the moon;

a total darkness, not night (far too soon).

Even in taverns and brothels, the violence

of their transactions fell to craven silence---

so I was told later when I inquired

(but still without answers I had desired).

Out of the poet's storied sepulcher---

and I tell you this truth; it is no lie---

I thought I heard a deep, and sorrowing sigh;

as if Rome had achieved its destiny

(the Rome of Vergil's untold poetry),

as if this was its spiritual vocation,

the only purpose of imperial powers.

Light came back to the sky after three hours---

and Rome's commerce moved quickly to resume

business as usual:  profit the intent,

with no need to inquire how this event

might have been caused, or what it might have meant.

Of that, can anyone be fully sure?

Who knows---who will provide---the explanation?

Starward