blankets a cat sleeping on a chair
at the Lord Byron Pizzeria. He swam
from here to Lerici, powered by a club
foot. Grandmother's house is so far away,
even the wolf has lost my scent. I will hike
between towns in the Cinque Terre,
bolstered by cheap wine and heaven al dente,
catch the last ferry back to Hotel Shelley.
But for now, gattino and I close our eyes, savor
the morning, real cream in cappuccino.
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