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
Treasure-seeking fingers.
Elsewhere
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,
Layering
Over, growing with.