His amber sunset eyes glare upwards

Seeing past things as they are

For what they should be;

A soulful countenance.

 

Coat well-worn, white, gray,

An adage to the foolishness of vanity.

Yet he neatens.

 

He sways, he plummets,

Teaching,

Knowing no consequence,

 Believing that the ground is a welcoming place.

 

He knocks over his food bowl with dignified ambivalence

Yet cries for hunger and sustenance.

A bittersweet melody.

 

Sleeping, arms draw, peaceful,

An overturned rock.

He does not care what time it is.

 He has no place to be.

 

As the world raps on the window

He closes the blinds.