i.
i walk around
the fathomless dull puddles -
painted like ink, sky deep
and glossy - searching
a way home
through this
disconnected grit,
half haggard by the thought
of an empty cold room
with the chill
of an arctic
shadow
only
ii.
a man is drawn
out of the thick shadows
into my eye, his hair
floating with the leaves
in the naked air
i can tell
he has no home
by his loose footsteps
and his lingering eyes
balanced on the fears
of passers-by
he smirks
as he walks on by
as if he knows
where i'm going
and what lies
in store
