Capriccio of Roman Ruins

We, the living ones, are distinguishablefrom those we move among, people of stone,by the red and blue of our robes,the blood-glow of face, knee and arm.We lounge on the worn steps beneaththe last arch of a shattered roofwhere the vegetation hangs, and two of usare arguing a point, gesturingto the empty pure blue sky. Another, alone,dangles his feet in a little pool of rain water,leaning against a toppled frieze; and one walks,very slowly, back and forth, before the breacheddome of a tomb. But in the friezethose others, grey or white, in colorlessgarments of rock, are loungingon their elbows by a little pool.Or on the surface of a huge urn, filled nowwith accidental dust and vines,those carved ones talk and circle slowlythrough eroded façades and marble alleys.And there is one statue intact: a naked giantleaning negligently againsta broken column which had long been a ruinalready, centuries ago, when first he relaxedand upright, with open eyes, here fell asleep.So it goes back and back before us:this leisure among the given remains.