THE WHISPERING GALLERY.
The fifteenth time I said something
louder than I should have, in a place
I shouldn't have, I finally understood
the Whispering Gallery. The domed
ceiling of the world reflects it all.
Sneeze at the right angle to the Pantheon's
oculus and it might not echo,
but murmur from the portico (something
about physics) and crash the city
in a day. I might bounce the idea on
the ground a few times, quietly, though
volume doesn't seem to matter.
It's the shape--if the gods in the rotunda
find it solid, someone will hear.