← v18n2, Fall 2019Poetry · Volume 18, Number 2
Orvieto
Hot. No AC (no Wi-Fi), no one with more
than a smidgen of English. Had the Fates
snipped his thread, here, just down the mountain
from that heavenly hell, just a lover’s leap
from Signorelli’s masterpiece? What dumb
seed had he sewn long ago, what crop to reap
here, punctured in paradise? His face began to burn.
Drugs dripped. What final lesson had he come here to learn?
