A man sits on the highway guardrails, his legs swinging
as he stares toward the skyline.  I understand the hypnosis
of a view.  Licking my fingers is a two-pound black
cat.  He nestles while the brown tabby draws blood, still unfamiliar 
with the sharpness of his claws and the softness
of human skin.  This city is full of paint:
Greek columns and spitting fountains, a lizard with a crown, 
a pie man feeding a T. Rex a slice.
The two kittens snooze in a crate beside me, paws intertwined.
Isn’t it always trying to rain?