I found Italy on the top of London, Roman Italy in an extended pergola walk for the Emperor, a bar of soap by a terrace water jar at his feasty disposal
as if he had a Tuscan nymph at hand for a sun ablution, in an evening with no vespers for Constantine had yet to rule on a hill in Byzantium but we had Londinium.
Sunlight in an alcove with a plinth for a gone statue by an enfilade of columns adores flaky cream stone
