Her hands look dead,
blue slender fingers
curving toward each other.
She’s bent over the sidewalk,
arm extended to a black
cat with matted fur.
The bones of her spine
protrude into the rain
like Yellow Mountains
emerge from the mist.
I’d like to ask how she feels
never seeing sun.
Hands working through knots,
she tilts her head and says
she doesn’t mind the rain.
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