timbbrown@hotmail.com 

City of Catacombs

The paths of feet
and hoofs and wheels
impaled the sleep
of thickened dust,
where walled-in homes
and chiseled beds
lay far beneath 
the streets of Rome.

ii

They awaited the moon
whose grace allows 
the halt of light
from there reflecting,
and under this -
their souls would moisten,
engulfed with tears
of patient joy. 

iii

Absorbing light,
the sponge of flesh
awakens nerves 
both wet and cold,
where eyes bust
out from their sheaths,
as once they were 
but punctured bones.

iv

And atlas, the pain
of empty lungs
will force their mouths
ajar amidst 
a stony lid
whose weight conceals
a settled puff 
of molded air.

© Copyright, Tim Brown.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.