A town of cats
beholden only to each other,
which is to say, beholden only to
the town of cats,
which is all they know,
take refuge from the winter’s rain
in the few remaining awnings
of the Andalusian Garden
and watch the careless palms
drop their dew,
resulting in ripples,
upon ripples
which wet their paws
and make me weep.

And, I cry even harder,
when one of these same cats
leaves her shelter
to nestle on my shoulder
and urge me to go on.


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