← v18n2, Fall 2019
Poetry · 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?