he took a sudden interest in the fall of ancient Rome,
glancing, as if just over his shoulder,
a shadow not unlike his own stumbled to keep up.
Back then the holy church would have nothing
to do with pagans, infidels, or devils
in Greek clothing. It demanded belief in the pure
immaculate moment.
Back in Petrarch's study:
Wherefore I walk already proud in hope,
my little knowledge stirs me to learn more.
I think, but thoughts of love knock at the door
and when I answer it there stands the Pope
tapping his holy foot, swinging a rope
much too large to be his rosary or
a place from which an enterprising whore
might think to hang a scented bar of soap…
The sonnet's sestet unfinished,
his great mind wandered
back to Laura, flowers
leaping from his pen
while his candle burned
and Rome crumbled once again.