Roca Vecchia

Something in the myriad blues,
the sharp fresh taste of the air—
This sea I know. Il Mare Adriatico.
These coastline places feel familiar.

Maybe I woke as a Messapian
to hear the roar of the sea
in BC1700,
from a building whose squared traces
I gaze at today
in the rock on top of the coastline cliff.

Perhaps I worshipped in the Caves of Posia,
fresh water sourcing from Gaia
while the salty sea pours in.
Maybe this stone I rub in Roca Vecchia
on the fortification wall of the Romans
was one I carefully placed myself.

Something in the myriad blues,
the sharp fresh taste of the air—
This sea I know, Il Mare Adriatico,
this  coast familiar from before.

©Susa Silvermarie 2019