Shutters
by Paul J. Willis
In Orvieto, the cobblestone alleys
barely keep the walls apart,
the walls of tufa quarried from the cliffs
below. Doors and windows face
each other like next of kin
all into one another’s business.
Across the way from my apartment,
a pair of fretted bird cages
hang in front of open shutters.
I thought such cages only existed
in old poems, yet here I am,
singing in one.