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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.
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Author:Towns, Alyssa
Publication:Subtropics
Article Type:Sonnet
Date:Mar 22, 2018
Words:129
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