Pirato, Sicily

Palm tree, bored prophet

of sunshine, tattles

in the inaugural breezes, certain

of storm. The low rumble at the edge

lurks, a contained force

that could ravish the panting

land with one swoop of its paw. The air

creaks with crickets, and phantom clouds

mask an impartial white sun.

The swing hangs motionless

from the carob tree, aching

for youth. Faraway dogs

bark at every movement to stay sane,

while angular cats

languish in the shade.


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