Between houses with asbestos siding

and power lines connecting

and disconnecting the neighborhood,

he dwells in familiar discomfort

among stale pillows

and rolling hills of macadam

not far from the forest.

He walks lightly- almost invisibly –

but sees more colors than most

and knows their meanings.

Movement of rails and wheels

keep the city moving and dirty,

taking him from hunger to curated canvas

and all he wants is to feel less sad.

Lean limbs and sharp eyes give way

to a tired view that he cannot help

skewing with fresh angles and a dark hilarity.

He is hope without knowing it.

His heart is closed and closer

to the end of his story than beginning;

the tragedy of his winter

is that he feels all used up,

but he is magic and light and is loved

by those who embrace the cold.