Capuchin Crypt, Rome

Four thousand monks form

one unblinking mosaic.

Hipbone hourglasses, chandeliers,

skulls like darkened

marble, stacked to ceiling

down the hall.

I cling to the pulse in your hand,

pretending we walk on

bleached tile. We smell cinnamon

rolls as powdered faces

pass, and children point

at their pennies in a fountain.

Outside, a woman buries

her face in the hot sidewalk,

palms extended.

Her cry follows me home

mangiare, mangiare, mangiare

            to eat, to eat, to eat.

 Original-

Four thousand monks fill

one unblinking mosaic.

Hipbone hourglasses, chandeliers,

skulls who forgot how to breathe.

I cling to the pulse in your hand,

pretending we walk a bright hallway

in America, ripe with plastic dreams.

Outside, a dirty woman cries

mangiare, mangiare, mangiare

            to eat, to eat, to eat.