Roman scents
on the Pincian, at dusk
just when you’re not quite sure if the light has failed.
Down there, the great city:
crocus-yellow light flowers in the dimness.
O, the dark vicus!
Dogs bark, violence stalks, sex shivers,
The priest, sated, approves the omens.

At dusk, the colors are lost.
Traceries on white marble, deep blues, greens, yellows,
a thousand tombs, a thousand gods -
but the gold atop the great temple gleams in the fading light.
To Jupiter Optimus Maximus!
Lord of light and darkness, great judge, ever-giver.
Here in the dimness, lost in the smell of fresh pine,
the fertile earth, springing ever-hopeful,
the scent of coriander and roses,
While lights star gleam in the valley city.

Let me take this subtle moment
as a gift of ever-varied Rome.
A place where a man has time and peace
To ponder in the softness of the dusk
On the dreams of ten millions,
On the high hills of your golden tombs.