The street vendor folded
the wings of his windup
bird and put away the
lighted yo-yos. His day
was done, though we were still
wound up and lights were on
the fountains. We had climbed
the winding stairs of Saint
Peter's dome to view Rome
from the rooftops, stood awed
before Michelangelos
and Raphaels, gone down
the Spanish Steps and drunk
from the fountain at the foot.

The street vendor folded
the wings of his windup
bird and put away the
lighted yo-yos. His day
was done, though we were still
wound up and lights were on
the fountains. We had climbed
the winding stairs of Saint
Peter's dome to view Rome
from the rooftops, stood awed
before Michelangelos
and Raphaels, gone down
the Spanish Steps and drunk
from the fountain at the foot.
The steps were lined with people
enjoying multilingual
chatter and the spraying
water sounds. The plastic bird
had flown, white winged, against
evening-darkened buildings,
circling, returning to the
vendor's hand. We left the
square and serpented through
narrow streets, backtracking,
laughing, unfolding maps
and moving on. Rounding
a dark corner, we came
upon the Pantheon's vast
form, face lightened by moon
and street light. Pantheon,
"all deities," by architects
who challenged earthquakes.
I caught my breath a moment
as the ancient edifice
seemed suspended in time
and space. There it stood, base
lower than the streets and
columns rising. Ray took
my hand and we shot back
in time a moment. Then
the laughter urged us on
and we rejoined the group
that didn't know we'd left it.