In which we Rome around (III)
On Castel Sant’Angelo and its contents.
Chest number four stands
As tall as tiptoed me, with
Sturdy stained panels warding off
Lies the worn steel
Dance of a sword hilt,
Accompanied by a polite sphere of cream filigree that
Nestles quietly against the pitch barrel of a pistol.
Generation after generation made this
Edifice their own, building into,
Over, growing with.