In Orvieto, one year ago, I began
to know where my feet would lead me.
In a day, the light changed the paint
and the stone a million subtle ways,
hinting at the occasional rewards
of my hardwon patience. I stood
alone, munching on olive breadsticks
from the wine shop around the corner
and watched the show, knowing I
would have to remember the power
of a gentle, sweet glow, how grace
is inevitable and immortal.
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