Last night I had a vision.
The city, once Urbs Vetus,
Now Orvieto,
Was rooted in the cliff
On which it stood.
Houses, streets, lanes, piazzas
Were all sprouting from the tufa cliff,
Like weeds
Or flowers of the field
That last but a day.
Only here and there
A few tap roots reached down
To the water level.
Swarms of tiny aphids
Moved through the streets
And clustered around
Its one great blossom,
The Cathedral.
It is a dream that comes and goes
With time
Although the cliff itself seems eternal.
Are we dreaming of a city?
Are we ourselves
Fragments of a dream?
Transformed into reality
For but a heartbeat.
Erika Bizzarri 