The aqueduct is reborn from the end, revived by technologies of centuries accumulated, and named La Fontana di Trevi. She rises with the face of Oceanus, unsmiling; she spews water, tame water, gushing, gushing with blue.

La Fontana di Trevi comes to life, visited by many; La Fontana di Trevi drenches in water and sings and dances in the night; La Fontana di Trevi gathers sprays of sun.

La Fontana di Trevi is water and stone; she is blue and gray with the Mediterranean, the World Ocean that circles, glowing. She is a gift of golden night, among a sky of velvet; the bossy, Roman housewife, who serves a teaspoon of Capri and a sieve of heaven.

A lump of salt, some café latte; or latte, whichever floats her boat.

La Fontana di Trevi sighs with time, and speckles Roma, with foam and water; so that many may gaze upon her bearded face, the strong one; the predecessor of Neptune. She shakes Vesuvius and buries her heart in Roma, planting it, and laying the ruins. La Fontana rises from her grave, renamed and redone, kept alive by machines, from technologies accumulated.

The water runs forth, and La Fontana di Trevi gazes forward; Neptune almost bows, and she gathers wishes in her bosom.

La Fontana di Trevi has returned, alive and well; locked in stone, spewing blue.