I enter the Old City after dawn. Quietly, like I want to steal it. I pass through the Zion Gate and head along the sand-colored walls to the Jewish Quarter. The shops selling sweets and holy books are closed.
Beneath them are Roman columns that rise up from another Jerusalem. I want to say to each column, “Are you talking today? Do I get even one secret? One little Roman secret? Lonely Romans must have talked a blue streak around you.”