-I think I might have the answer-

It’s all in the comings and goings. 

the young pass through time navigating

year to year without a sense of delineation.

and the old? well, for most, (they) slow-down

nestled into more calming periods,

the years becoming deliberate, reflective,
allowing for the sorting-out of the accumulated.

(they) hang around at the borders of commotion

often grumbling at the activities of others, forgetting

that commotion was once once reserved solely for (them),

–– now (they're) left to consider brothy chicken necks, encroaching

visits of priests, and recollections of long lost gesticulations, the art

of exaggerated pantomime to emphasize the spoken word

which pressed (their) points of view

into animated conversational prominence.

understand, these assessments should be applied

foremost to the Italians, and somewhere therein lies

the answer,--deep inside the joints of (their) (our) my

historically active, but now all to easily detectable bones.