Rome was built by alchemists

who mixed stone with gold

and little bits of their hearts

pouring themselves into their arts

to bend the unknown into recognizable parts:

Every fresco and square

every cobblestone stair

was molded with care

a breath of fresh air when you compare

its streets to the cities at home

where pavement guides consumer eyes

with yellow lines and traffic signs

built not to last just to advertise

and taunting towers hide the sunrise

that splashes light on the metropolis

drenched in its own politics

too busy preaching and shaking fists

to think of others or use their wits

No, Rome is different.

It’s impressive and old

and quietly bold

because it proudly holds

pink windows and imperfect curves

like the women cooking dinner

or the tomatoes that they serve.

And despite the history,

it’s not settled in stone

In fact, it has grown—

there’s plenty of new pushing through

the Trevi Fountain as it spews

modern shades of ancient blues

and a few streets over, fashions fuse

chrome gladiator boots with jeweled Jimmy Choo’s.

In a battle between time and the minds it confuses,

Rome conquers both; a saint, a student,