Romulus

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Cut adrift, we two, on the Tiber’s tide,
forbidden twins of the vestal maid
and Mars. What providence, we should be plied
from the jaws of usurper’s decree, saved

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by a mother wolf. How simple it seems
now, before the wayward shepherd, legions
marching on Alba Longa, the Sabine
feast affair; before the hundred seasons

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of my reign. From the brink of delirium,
I nursed beside you, departed brother,
yet to learn the seed of imperium
slumbered in one, but not in the other.