than an hour before the bells, but the view
extends for weeks, each minute mile a stitch
in a seam. Orvieto is built on caves, where
refugees hid from explosions contracted
around the cathedral. Even war respects
beauty, each side claiming church as queen,
drooling jewels and climbing on knees.
In a blink these thoughts blur and a baby cries
below, the hills and rocks and rooftops sway
and it is nearly noon, the sun reminds you
to run, run, ragazza, he is waiting.
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