The rain ceased, and with our spirits and bellies,
Full of Rome, our voices of the world danced across
The room loud and clean.
Art is recalled, the music, the history.
With our own gestures we described all we have seen.
Our global language of laughter piqued.

Then the familiar peal of storm took another majestic bow over our roof,
Ceasing our words straight from our mouths.
Even if we spoke over nature’s growl,
Our own ghost wouldn’t hear us.

It was a deep, slow cry which seemed to command
From all corners of Rome. It was chaste.
Direct. Too majestic to be deluded
By any music of city songs.

The silverware shiver under the low tremor of heaven
Which penetrated into our flesh, gripping our stomach,
And thrusting it up, next to our hearts.
All of Rome trembled from under us,

Stirring awake two rival artists
Michelangelo and Raphael by the pulse
Of light bathing Rome, exposing her long
Enough for us all to witness the fresh marble riches
Glowing outside our restaurant window.

Masiela Lusha

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/roma-iii/