Do You Build A Tolerance To Cats

Alba Hill

DAWN IN THE HILLS

Frozen
madness of stars of late autumn
trapunge
sparkling dreams wet with dew.
The sky and wakes up in colorful flash

back the urge to live in the heart

worn by fleeting joys.
The wind blows from the valleys and tree

quivers the leaves still green,
but the root is dry.

lightning leaped in the window that opens.
The song of a rooster strutting by
item per day that is born, a plaintive moo


rises from a stall in the corner still dark.
The square shapes of the houses
unaware
disturb the soft curves of these hills. Slow fades the moon

air sparks of the new sun.
The road is a river that
ash down its sea:
a child goes running ...
the rest is property fresco
faded and chipped by time,
age, old age.

Peter Guarnotta