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.