The Cat Sits at the Window

The cat sits at the window, waits,

becoming his own shadow.

Rain the color of his fur

Falls and the sound of falling

Water fills the room

More quiet and enduring than the voices

Of the suits who brag about saved

dollars and the trade-off for lost lives.

On the wall up close what

looks to be a patch of sunlight

on a yellow panel is a cold

warning. Rearrange the letters

to spell names.

From here the world beyond

looks safe. The river wanted

only to sustain not poison.

A constant rise, the falling

rain speaks many names

at once. We will be heard. I

never went away.