When it rains on a July day,
they huddle their shoulders,
hide their children and their faces.
Focused on where they go,
they avoid where they are.
When it rains on a July day,
the air is hot and muggy,
crowding close as a subway stranger.
Filling their throats and lungs,
it pushes them to shelter.
When it rains on a July day,
I lift my eyes to the grey skies,
I take deep breaths of clean air.
The birds and I know that
when it rains on a July day,
it rains for me.
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