Cicerone

Peter Rose

Now is the time for the crucial chandelier.

Choose an hour when no one else is there,

the heat intense, the couturiers gone away.

Lead me down a circuitous route

barely speaking, the better to anticipate.

Part the leathern doors and introduce me

to the obscurest church ever visited.

Teach me about its forked history,

how it was bombed and rebombed

and sulkily rebuilt.

Point out the seminal chandelier

with its thousand-year-old brass

flung into the Tiber in a vandal’s pique.

Indicate each notch on the ruined pulpit,

the mincing lion and indignant unicorn.

Move ahead of me into the sacristy,

remarking on a particular cerement.

Reveal each nuance of your classic neck.